


Phil Lester Saved Me

by EvaSage



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Professions, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Awkward Crush, Car Accidents, Emetophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Lawyer!Dan, M/M, Major Character Injury, Meet-Cute, Mental Breakdown, Not Canon Compliant, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Phan Angst, Phan Comfort, Phan Fluff, Phan Smut, Phanfiction, Rating: M, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, Weatherman!Phil, anxious!dan, attempted suicide, psychiatric hospital setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 28,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6780139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvaSage/pseuds/EvaSage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan Howell is a sad lawyer. Phil Lester is a weatherman who brings sunshine wherever he goes. Dan has had a crush on him ever since he ambled into his office, looking for advice on a parking ticket. Now Phil has been hit by a car and he needs representation in court. Will Dan be able to overcome his anxiety to win both the case and the other man's heart?</p><p>Some chapters have individual trigger warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dan Howell’s alarm rang, eardrum-burstingly loud. He groaned and pulled the duvet over his head. He had been torn away from a particularly cosy dream; full of sunlight and the comforting sight of a particular pair of blue eyes. He dragged himself out of bed and checked his phone. He would have to get ready in the next 10 minutes, or else he would be late for work. He looked at his bed and bit his lip. A lazy pajama day had never seemed more tempting.

He could ring in sick, but the partner had warned him that he had exceeded the amount of ‘mental health days’ they could give him at the law firm without cutting his pay. With unpaid bills piling up on the kitchen counter, that was something he literally could not afford. And so he liberally coated his hair in dry shampoo, ran his GHD over the curls that had appeared overnight, wriggled into a suit and dashed out to catch the Tube. Before leaving, he placed his hand on his dream journal, then drew it away. No. Too dangerous.

On the Tube, he tried to make himself as small as possible and let his mind drift away. That adorable laugh, that smile…he closed his eyes and imagined what that pale skin would feel like against his own. The lady beside him coughed. Dan hurriedly crossed his legs, his face going tomato-coloured. He hurried out of the Tube a stop early, hoping he would never see her again as long as he lived.

Dan had become a little, shall we say, obsessed with a particular BBC weatherman. Watching Phil Lester on the 10 o’clock news had become Dan’s favourite part of the day. He was just so adorable- so enthusiastic about his job, always making horrendous puns (what are meteorologists afraid of? The atmos-fear!) and that laugh- oh god.

In another world, this would be perfectly fine. Being bisexual was not a big deal anymore. Having a crush on a minor celebrity was perfectly normal, and he wasn’t the only person in the Phil Lester fandom. He hadn’t been voted Buzzfeed’s ‘Cutest Weatherman’ of the year for nothing. However, Phil was one of Dan’s clients.

Phil had just wandered into the building one day with an overly extortionate parking ticket, asking for help. It wasn’t too difficult a case, so the partner gave it to Dan. It hadn’t been much; a consultation, a few emails back and forth, a morning in the district court; but it had been enough for Dan to fall head over heels in like with the other man. 

Several months later, Dan was still kicking himself for not asking Phil out for coffee, getting his number, even saying ‘hey, you’re a weatherman, right? I’ve seen you on telly and you do a great job!’ Something. ANYTHING. He had opened up a draft email to him several times and typing a message again and again before deleting it and putting his head in his hands.

When Dan reached his desk, before doing anything productive, he opened an incognito browser on his computer and pulled up Phil’s twitter. He liked to leave it open in the background during his work day. That little ‘ping’ would cut through all the horrendous client emails and filing and quadruple-expresso brain haze and make him smile. Phil’s tweets were a joy; cute selfies in the BBC studio, weather updates complete with puns and gaming references and, of course, pictures of kittens. Even the thought of Phil smiling as he tapped out a tweet made Dan feel warm and happy.

He looked at Phil’s account and his stomach fell into his shoes. There was a picture of Phil in hospital, with a cast on all the way up to his thigh. The caption read; ‘Leg will be out of action for 8-10 weeks! So angry (lion emoji) Hopefully will get everything sorted with my lawyer tomorrow!’

Dan blinked, unable to comprehend what he had just read. He scrolled down a few more hospital selfies until he reached a two tweets; ‘Thank sweet bunny rabbits for the invention of morphine’ and ‘Just been in a hit-and-run! Hurts so bad…but I have the plate no.-I am onto you (eyes emoji)’ They were all timestamped as yesterday afternoon.

Dan scrolled down until he reached tweets he had already read, then clicked the little ‘x’ and closed twitter. His hands were shaking as he opened his email. Surely Phil would get a different lawyer for this, a proper BBC damages lawyer-

From: phillester@bbcweather.com  
To: dan.howell@goodson.uk  
CC: I need you, Danny boy!

From the first time they had met, Phil had insisted on calling Dan by his first name. 'I don't like calling people things like "Mr. Howell",' he had said. 'It makes you sound like my maths teacher or something.'

The lift pinged open, and a familiar laugh burst into the office. Dan jerked his head up and stared open-mouthed as Phil Lester, hobbled out on crutches onto the grey office carpet. Cat, one of Dan’s co-workers, followed him out. Phil was wearing a red plaid shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans, one leg cut at the thigh to acommodate his 3/4 leg cast. Cat pointed to where Dan was sitting and Phil’s eyes roamed over the cubicles, then met his, and he smiled. Dan waved back, stunned. 

He felt nervous anxiety creeping up on him, threatening to choke him. He was bad enough just sitting at his desk on a regular day, hating everything. But an unexpected meeting with the man he had been obsessing over for months? He took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and let it out. Just like the therapist (in the last of the two sessions he could afford) had told him to.

He stood up from his desk, and held out his hand. Phil looked at it with a bemused smile.

‘Oh, sorry, left-handed, sorry,’ Dan blustered, holding out his right hand.

‘I –er, I would take you up on that handshake, but I’m afraid I’d probably fall over,’ Phil laughed, looking down at his crutches. Cat shot Dan a withering look.

‘Oh. My. God. I am sorry, I am so sorry, I-‘

Cat interrupted him. ‘Mr. Lester. I’ll bring you along to one of our meeting rooms so you can discuss your case with Mr. Howell, shall I?’

She walked ahead, chatting to Phil, while Dan tried in vain to cool down his flaming face. That was probably definitely one of the biggest fails he had ever committed. Dan wanted to crawl into a hole, bury himself, and stay there forever. He knew without any doubt he would be having cringe-flashbacks of that moment several times a day for the rest of his life.

Cat leaned in and whispered to Dan as she closed the glass door of the meeting room; ‘You better not fuck this one up, Dan, or so help me… I am not saving your beanpole ass again,’

Dan gulped and turned around to face the blue-eyed man, beaming up at him from a seat at the head of the meeting table. Phil’s crutches already had stickers of kittens all over them. Dan pushed down the urge to gather him into his arms and cuddle him, sat down and tried to look as serious as possible.

‘Before we start,’ Phil said, ‘I have to tell you something super-cool.’

‘Y-yes?’ Dan stammered.

‘I just noticed, we have the same hair, just in different directions! We’re like hair twins!’ He laughed, and Dan melted on the inside. ‘Haha…hair twins.’


	2. Chapter 2

As Phil explained what had happened the day before, Dan could feel his heart breaking. Phil has a goofy smile plastered over his face the whole time, but Dan could tell that inside he was confused, angry and in considerable pain. He would shift in his chair every so often, trying to adjust the huge cast on his leg, discomfort etched across his features.

How could anyone just mow someone down in the street and keep going? Not even knowing whether the person they had hit had been permanently disabled, or worse, killed? Anger rose up like bile in Dan’s throat.

‘And so, this morning I went to the police and gave in the license plate, and they said they will be able to check the records and get a name- oh- are you alright, Dan?'

Dan hadn’t noticed that the anger had shown itself on his face in the form of a frown.

When Phil had said his name, an inexplicable feeling had coursed through Dan’s body. Tingles all up his arms and down his neck. He wanted Phil to say it again. He wanted Phil to whisper it to him between kisses.

‘Ye-yes, of course, sorry, continue-‘

‘They also said that they will collect the footage from the cameras where it happened, and I was with two of my friends at the time so I have witnesses.’

‘And, well, that’s it really!’ Phil concluded.

‘Well you certainly have a very strong case, Phi-uhhhh…Mr. Lester,’

‘Please, call me Phil.’

‘Phil, I don't think I can represent you.’

‘Huh?’ Phil looked immediately disappointed.

‘I only qualified last year, I’ve never done a personal injury case and I don’t have a whole lot of experience…’

‘That’s okay. You said yourself I had a strong case so it shouldn’t be too hard, right? One of my friends, PJ, is a barrister so he can do all the talking. You did so well with my parking ticket case! I just want a someone I know and trust there in the court beside me .’

Dan felt his heart skip about ten beats. If Phil kept smiling at him like that then he was certain he would soon be needing a defibrillator.

‘Well I’m very flattered Mr-em- Phil, but-‘ Dan racked his brains to think of a reason not to take him on. "Well, Phil, I have crippling anxiety and a massive crush on you, so I might have a panic attack in front of the whole court if anything goes wrong"- No, he couldn’t say that…

‘No buts. I want you.’ Phil extended his hand towards Dan. Dan wiped his sweaty palm on his trousers and shook hands with the other man.

Phil pulled himself up on his crutches shakily. ‘Well, I’ll get in touch with you if there’s any developments on the police side of things.’

Dan nodded.

Phil stretched a crutch out and made for the door, then paused. ‘Oh gosh, I should probably get your number, shouldn’t I?’

‘Ah-ah yes, t-that would be a g-reat idea,’ Dan stammered. Phil handed Dan one of his crutches, then pulled a crumpled up bus ticket out of his pocket, along with an Argos pen. Dan took down the number in his shaky, terrible handwriting.

‘Well, see you soon then, I hope!’ Phil flashed another dazzling smile in his direction. Dan wondered whether his face showed the mushy feelings he felt inside every time Phil smiled at him. Maybe that was why Phil kept doing it. Or more likely, Phil just smiled at everyone because he was a kind, happy sort of person- everything that Dan wasn’t.

Cat was hovering outside the door. ‘I’ll show you out.’ She shot Dan a pointed look, then led Phil away. Dan felt curiously empty as he loped away, and fought the urge to run after him and hug him.

‘Call me if you need anything!’ The words were out of Dan’s mouth before he could second-guess himself.

‘Will do!’

The lift pinged closed. Dan ambled over to his cubicle, in a daze, then opened the incognito browser again. He looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one was watching, then typed a question into the search bar.

Is Phil Lester gay?

No conclusive results came up; it seemed like if Phil had had any previous relationships, he wasn’t the type to talk about them on the internet. However, Dan did find a slashfic concerning Phil and one of his fellow BBC news presenters, Huw Edwards. With its strange premise (Phil and Huw fucking in a BBC broom closet), abundance of typos and immediate smuttiness, the fic made for an oddly compelling read.

_"‘I wil now entere you from behind, you secksy weatherman,’ Huw growled in his gravely Welsh axcent._   
_‘Oh yas pls!’ Phil replied, spreading his bare buttcheeks with his hand and preparing his anus for penetrayshun._   
_Huw lubed up his hefty member with spit and then pounded into the blue-eyed man’s backside. Outside the beep…beep noise of the news @10 intro was audibel. Huw synked his thrusts to the music and Phil moaned in plesur."_

The sound of his phone buzzing in his trouser pocket snapped Dan out of his reverie. He looked around guiltily and closed the web browser. The text was from an unknown number. He opened it.

‘Hi there, Phil here! This is just a text so that you have my number. Talk to you soon, have a nice day!’

Dan put down his phone, placed his elbows on his desk and rested his head in his hands. He stayed like that for a while, until his delighted grin faded away and his feels calmed down. That was the thing about Phil. Most of Dan’s life was a flat grey. He didn’t even feel sad, he just felt, well, nothing. He felt miniscule and pointless in the context of an ever-expanding universe.

But whenever Dan was thinking about Phil, watching his weather show, talking to him, Dan felt…actually happy. Like if he could just try and make the day not hurt until he could curl up on the sofa and watch Phil Lester talking about the 10mm of rain that would fall tomorrow in West Yorkshire, everything would be okay.

Dan jumped up from his desk and wandered over to the bookshelf of law books in the corner of the office. He ran his fingers over the tomes and pulled out the lastest edition of ‘Personal Injury and Non-Pecuniary Loss Litigation’ and began to leaf through it. For Phil Lester, Dan was going to pull together the most watertight case he had ever made.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small trigger warning in this chapter for references to negative self image, disordered eating, etc.
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! You are all beautiful angel beans <3

**One week later**

                After doing overtime at work to make up for a missing colleague, Dan returned to his apartment even later than usual.  He threw his briefcase on the floor, undid his tie, and pulled off his suit jacket. It was approaching the end of May in London, and the weather had started to become warm and humid. He undid the buttons of his shirt and took it off, hanging it haphazardly on the chair sitting in the small hallway. Then he removed his shiny work shoes and trousers and cast them away as well.

                Dan stood in front of the hall mirror and pushed back his sweaty fringe. He looked down at his body, clad only in a pair of Calvin Klein briefs. Then he placed a hand over a little pouch of flab that had grown over his stomach. When did that get there?

During the last few months his workload had gotten heavier and his anxiety worse, so going outside for a jog was no longer really an option (not that he had ever really been bothered to). However, this new development made him feel suddenly pudgy and even more awkward than before; 6 foot 3 inches of lumbering, lonely uselessness.

“Now, Dan, don’t perpetuate thought patterns of negative self-image,” he said in a high pitched voice, mocking his ex-therapist. He sighed, then turned away from the mirror.

He padded into the kitchen and poured himself some cereal. This was his usual supper for when he came home late and couldn’t be arsed to properly nourish himself, which was most nights, really. He splashed some milk in over it and began to eat, placing a hand over his stomach again, feeling a little guilty.

He looked at his watch and realised it was after 10pm, so he walked over to his small lounge area and switched on the telly. He chuckled a little to himself as Huw Edwards appeared on screen, detailing the headlines of the day in his ‘gravely Welsh axcent.’

The therapist had advised him to stop watching the news, as he had foolishly told her that it made him ‘lose faith in the future of humanity’ sometimes. But any appearance of Phil Lester on his TV screen immediately undid the mood-lowering effects of pictures of blood-soaked crime scenes and insipid human interest stories.

He had just spooned a particularly large helping of soggy Shreddies into his mouth when he heard his phone ring out in the hall. He put down the bowl and scrambled over to it, nearly slipping on the tiles in the process.

He answered the phone, his mouth still full of cereal. ‘Hermerh?’

‘Danny boy!’ Phil’s voice rang out on the other end. ‘I have great news!’

Dan swallowed, then took a moment to compose himself. ‘Ah-okay, what is it?’

‘Oh gosh, I am so sorry I just realised how late it is! Damn, Phil, you are not supposed to be calling your lawyer after hours…I’m really sorry I’m just waiting around here in the studio for my turn-‘

‘That’s no problem, Phil, er, what did you want to tell me?’

‘Oh, just that we’ve found the guy who ran me over! There was a bit of trouble with locating him because he was actually driving a STOLEN CAR! Crazy, right? Well anyway, because of the number plate the police were all out to arrest this housewife from the East End, but thankfully they got the real guy at this petrol station outside of London, he was trying to rob it, anyway-‘

‘That’s great, that will make our-I mean, -your case even stronger.’

‘I know, right? Anyway, I have to go get ready now. How about we meet up tomorrow so you can explain me all the legal eagle stuff. Does 6pm in the Starbucks in Shepherd’s Bush sound okay? That's the only time I'm really free tomorrow.’

‘T-that sounds perfect, Phil.’

‘Alrighty, looking forward to it! See you then! Byeee!’

‘See you…’

Dan just stood there in his lounge for a few moments, phone in hand, in his underwear, trying in vain to comprehend what had just happened. Knots of anxiety began to wravel themselves in his chest. He felt faint and his hands were clammy.

 _‘Thank you Jackie. And now, over to Phil Lester, with this week’s weather forecast. How are you, Phil?’_ the sensual voice of Huw Edwards came drifting out of the lounge. Dan’s stomach did a somersault. He slid into the lounge in his socks and pretty much fell face first onto the sofa.

 _‘I’m doing well, thank you, Huw, it’s wonderful to be back in the studio.’_ And there was Phil, dressed in an adorable pin-striped suit jacket and purple tie. _‘We might have a few hiccups today as it’s more of a fore-CAST than a forecast,’_ the camera panned down to the bottom half of Phil, showing that he was seated in a high stool, the top of an adjusted trouser leg just covering his large cast _. ‘But anyway, here we go!’_

The camera panned back up to Phil’s smiling face. Dan felt tingles run across his skin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning for this chapter...this is probably the strangest thing I have ever written please don't judge me

_‘Well, it’s been yet another day of marked contrasts across the UK, f-i-ne sunny weather across northern areas, all my Manchester relatives are currently toasting themselves, so jealous! However, it has been anything but sunny in other parts of the country with flash flooding caused by thunderstorms rolling their way in across southern areas-‘_

                Dan gazed at the screen, entranced with a goofy smile plastered over his face. Phil stretched out his arm across the screen to indicate the large storm which was making its way over to England from France, and looked directly into the camera. The blue in his eyes sparkled, enhanced by the deep navy of the English Channel’s digital representation. It was almost as if Phil was staring right at him.

‘ _Now all the meteorology crew in the BBC have their eyes pinned on this storm here, which I have taken the liberty to name ‘Storm Phil,’ hopefully that name will catch on-‘_

Dan felt a twitch at his groin, and a familiar warmth. He looked down to see that his dick was half-hard inside his boxers. “Oh no,” he thought. “Not this…not again.”

 _‘We think this storm will move along the English Channel, just flirting with the south coast…’_ Phil stopped for a moment and giggled, his face crinkling up adorably. _‘I swear, Samantha, you put that one in just to make me laugh, er, a-nyway we will certainly be watching ‘Storm Phil’ very closely over the next few hours.’_

                Dan slipped a hand into his boxers and began to stroke his hardening cock. He felt immediate relief, all the tension that he had built up inside himself during the week ebbing away.

_‘Elsewhere there will be a few scattered showers, with the Midlands being quite cool- you go, Midlands- but overall a fine night with temperatures in the mid-teens‘_

                Dan pulled his boxers down over his arse, exposing his now-full erection to the warm air of his flat. He gripped his thumb and forefinger around it tightly and picked up the pace. His whole body shivered with pleasure.

‘ _Some overnight showers will bring a wet start to some of the southwestern areas, the rain will tend to drift away through the morning though a few will form later on in the day. Most places, however will have a really lovely day tomorrow, so break out your suncream and sandcastle-shaped buckets-‘_

                As Dan continued masturbating, his eyes went a little hazy and blurry for a few moments. He blinked and focused on Phil again, his pale face a ray of sunshine in the centre of his shitty TV screen. He could hear what he was saying, but couldn’t take it in, his brain was full of imaginings of kissing Phil, Phil’s skin against his, Phil’s hand on his dick, Phil inside him-oh god-

_‘There will be a few exceptions, unfortunately; some areas in Northern Scotland and the Highlands will experience some sharp showers- sorry about that guys- and cloud will drift down to areas in north-eastern England as well, pretty much killing off any possibility of improving the old suntan-‘_

                Dan had picked up the tempo, his wrist straining as he pumped his hand up and down. The lower part of his stomach was quivering and tingles were rushing all over his skin. He didn’t know whether he would last much longer.

_‘A massive improvement in the southern counties tomorrow with temperatures reaching the early, even mid-twenties in some places-‘_

                Dan’s legs twitched and he felt a desperate pressure building up in his pelvis. He gritted his teeth and wanked harder. He wanted- he NEEDED to come RIGHT NOW-oh Phil-oh god-

_‘Then all eyes to the north tomorrow night with a cold front heading its way southwards, as you might have heard this will mean-‘_

                Dan closed his eyes and felt himself nearing the edge. He slowed down for a few seconds, letting the soft sound of Phil’s voice slowly guide him closer, and closer again.

Phil dropped his voice down to almost a whisper, speaking in a strangely seductive tone about how _‘chillier temperatures in the north will be seen during the rest of the week, with the south perhaps scraping one more day of sunshine-‘_

Dan was no longer able to string together a comprehensive thought. He opened unseeing eyes, his whole being focused on the head of his penis, and if he concentrated on that part right there it just felt sO gOod-

‘ _I’m pretty optimistic that we will have a good weekend though, with most places being dry and pleasant. However, just a reminder that the nights will be p-retty darn chilly with chances of frost.’_

“please…” Dan thought, in a moment of lucidity. “oh fuck, please, Phil-"

_‘Anyway that’s all from me and the rest of the BBC weather team, remember you can check out the hourly forecast on the website bbc.co.uk/weather. Back to Huw and Fiona in the studio.’_

                For a few moments, Dan felt completely helpless as unsustainable feelings of pleasure rippled through his body. He felt like he might almost faint, and then there was an explosive sensation of release and he came. Semen pulsed out, into his own hand, hot and sticky, his whole body convulsing as he watched Phil spin the whole way around in his stool and sign off with a wink.

                He pressed the mute button on the remote with his elbow. Then he just sat there for a few seconds, limp, his head lolling and his hands covered with come. He felt guilty and strange and disgusting, but he had definitely scratched the itch. He hadn’t felt this satisfied in a very long time. It was difficult to ever feel in the mood when your brain was usually preoccupied with staving off an anxiety attack.

                Dan leaned over to the coffee table and unrolled a few sheets of toilet paper from the roll he had left there the last time he did this. He cleaned himself off and chucked the tissue into the wastepaper basket.  Then he pulled up his boxers and went over to wash his hands off in the kitchen sink. After than he curled up on the sofa, pulling a blanket around himself for comfort.

                He flicked from channel to channel until he found an animal documentary. Then he lay down on his side, a hugging a pillow in his arms (he was lonely but he wouldn’t pretend it was Phil, no he wouldn’t) and he fell asleep to the sound of David Attenborough’s voice. Phil's face floated in and out of all his dreams, pale and ghostly and always just out of reach.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dan and Phil go to Starbucks together! Fluffy at the beginning, bit of hurt/comfort near the end. Enjoy! 
> 
> tw; anxiety, panic etc

Dan glanced up and down the busy London street one more time, then padded into the Starbucks. He had been waiting outside it for 15 minutes already. If he just went in and got a seat, that would look more normal, surely? Waiting outside was making him feel like a 13-year-old on his first date.

Dan joined the queue, squinting at the menu board. He should get a flat white, it would make him look more business-like, or some sort of Americano to cut down on the calories…

A voice sounded just behind his ear; ‘I recommend the caramel macchiato.’

Dan jumped. He was so surprised his feet literally left the ground and he nearly dropped his briefcase.’Oh, P-phil, I didn’t see you there!’ Phil was there, leaning on his kitten-stickered crutches, wearing a purply t-shirt and a massive grin.

‘That’s because I snuck up on you,’ Phil laughed, his nose crinkling adorably. ‘Have you ever experienced the hot cup of deliciousness that is a caramel macchiato, Danny boy?’

‘I-er-no, I don’t believe I have.’ Those frothy sugary concoctions were usually out of Dan’s price range.

The woman in front of them finished paying and the barista smiled at them.

‘Two grande caramel macchiatos, please! To stay. Oh, and make one of them lactose-free.’

Dan went to dig around in his trouser pockets for change, but Phil stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. He looked up at him, his blue eyes sparkling.

‘It’s on me.’

Dan couldn’t find the voice to protest.

***

As they waited for the coffees, Phil chatted away to Dan about how happy he was to be back presenting the weather again. Dan said very little. He felt nervous and agitated to have Phil so close to him. He avoided looking the other man in the eye. The barista called out their order and pushed two steaming white mugs towards them. She looked at Dan, then at Phil and shot Dan a wry smile, like they were in on a joke.

                All the blood drained out of Dan’s face. She winked at Dan and turned back to the latte steamer. Dan ushered Phil over to a seat near the window, hoping that he hadn’t seen the blatant shipping that had just occurred. Phil sat in the rickety chair and Dan took the sofa by the wall.

‘Gosh, this window is pretty steamy,’ Phil said, reaching up to draw a little smiley face on it with his fingertip.

‘Serious condensation issues.’ _Oh my god, Dan, why did you say that, what the fuck?_ There was silence for a few seconds. Dan lifted the caramel macchiato up to his mouth and sipped at the foam.

‘No! That’s not how you do it!’ Phil took the mug right out of Dan’s hand, picked up a coffee stick from the table and began stirring. He mixed the caramel syrup, milk froth and coffee until everything blended together. He handed the drink back to Dan and then began stirring his own.

                Dan lifted the cup up to his mouth and took a sip. It was still hot, so it burned his tongue a little, but it tasted like a cosy hug with a hint of sugary goodness. Dan picked up a spoon and scraped the remaining foam off the top. His taste buds exploded with joy. He had to hold himself back from moaning.

‘You like it?’ Phil asked, between sips of his own drink.

‘Yasssomigod,’ Dan replied, scooping up another spoon of foam. ‘I think you’ve ruined my figure and improved my life in one fell swoop.’

‘Hey, you’d look great at any weight!’ Phil said, then immediately moved on; ‘It’s sad though, I found out I was lactose intolerant a few months ago and the lactose-free milk just isn’t the same, it's so watery…could I have a sip of yours, actually?

‘Of course,’ Dan said. _You’d look great at any weight._ ‘It won’t make you sick, will it?’ _You’d look great at any weight._ Had Phil really just said that, or was he dreaming?

‘No, no, a sip won’t kill me.’ Phil lifted the mug up to his mouth with both hands. ‘Mmmmnnnn…’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Dan smiled at the other man. ‘ _You’d look great at any weight,’_ was bouncing around and around in his brain. He opened his briefcase and pulled out some files.

‘Alrighty, I have the police report you sent me, and your statement. I sent in for a court summons a few days ago. Now we have to go through this thing called a conditional fee agreement-‘

‘Oooh, sounds scary,’ Phil said.

‘It’s not that bad, here, I’ll explain it to you, see-‘ he turned over a sheet of stapled paper and began explaining. ‘It’s a thing particular to damages cases, where basically you sign that you promise that you will pay your solicitor, and your barrister, Mr.-eh- Liguori?’

‘Yes, PJ told me that he is definitely in. Er, I’m going to come around your side, actually, because I can’t see what’s going on…’ Phil dug into the front pocket of the galaxy-print bag he had brought with him and pulled out a glasses case. He put on a pair of black plastic frames. ‘Serious business!’

                Phil scooted around the table and sat in beside Dan, then leaned in to look at the piece of paper Dan was holding. Dan rested his fingers on the table to stop the paper from shaking. Phil was so close now, close enough that Dan knew what he smelled like; a little bit of musk but mostly crisp and sweet like flowery soap and just a hint of…raspberries?

Dan blinked and returned to the task in hand, trying in vain to block out the fact that Phil was near enough to touch, near enough to feel the heat of his skin; ‘Well this bit up here is for me, the solicitor, and then what the agreement covers, ie your claim for damages and then down here is what you pay if you win the case, expenses, and also what you pay if you lose-‘

                Phil nodded as Dan talked though the whole document. Then he took it from Dan to read it for himself. Dan leafed through the case files and made triple-sure everything was in order. There were a few minutes of companionable silence; interrupted only by the slurping of coffee, the turning of pages and the occasional question from Phil.

‘What does ‘disbursement’ mean?’

‘The money which I will have to pay to other people to help prepare your case, for you it’ll be fees for the medical report, et cetera,’ Dan replied.

‘Gosh, you are so knowledgeable, Danny boy,’ Phil said, not looking up from the page. Dan felt warm inside, whether from the latte or Phil's nicknames, he wasn't sure. He gazed at Phil for a few moments, appreciating how cute and, well, sexy he looked in his glasses. Phil Lester in glasses made him want to drink water and do his taxes.

                Dan looked back at the case files and kept flicking through them. He was making a mental to-do list of all the things that had to be checked off before they could even step in the courtroom. He would need to sit down with Phil and hash out a proper legal statement; talk to this PJ guy and figure out a game plan; meet with the opposing lawyers…and god knows it could be months before they even saw the inside of a courtroom what with the snail’s pace of the English legal system.

                He looked down at Phil’s leg. 8-10 weeks of healing, Phil had tweeted. Up to two and a half months of his life. And Dan wasn’t even sure of the extent of Phil’s injuries. Was it a clean break or would it need more operations and years of physio? Would the judge be sympathetic? Would this PJ guy be any good? Would Dan fuck things up, like he always did?

                Dan blinked. The pages had become blurry. He wiped his eyes, feeling a familiar tightness in his chest. This was the most important case in Dan’s legal career so far. Phil Lester was a talented man with a bright future and Dan’s actions could seriously impact his life, for better or for worse. This wasn’t just parking tickets anymore, this was real life, a hit-and-run, so complicated, witnesses, CCTV, everything...Dan’s heart had sped up so fast in the last minute that it now felt like it was knocking against his ribs.

‘Dan, are you okay?’ Phils face was inches from his and full of concern. Dan could see his own face, distorted and ghostly in the reflection on Phil’s glasses.

‘I-I don’t kn-know if I can do this-I, er-‘

‘What are you talking about? You’re Dan Howell, ace attorney!’

‘No, really I-‘ Dan looked away and swallowed. Panic was building in his chest. What had he gotten himself in for? Why did he even get out of bed these days?

‘You’ve gone pale, are you alright?’ There was a note of worry in the last word that made Dan panic even more,

Dan tried to speak, but only a few choked consonants came out. He was sweating and his hands were shaking. He breathed in wheezily, noticing that he had been holding his breath.

‘Oh gosh, you’re having an attack, aren’t you?’

Dan nodded. He didn’t know what else to do.

‘That’s okay. Here, you’re safe with me. One of my flatmates in uni used to have these all the time. You just sit there and try to catch your breath for a few moments.’

Dan’s eyes darted around. The coffee shop was suddenly loud and oppressive, all the noises bearing in on him at once. Phil placed a hand on his back and rubbed a comforting circle with his fingers.

‘Do you want to leave, Dan? Is it too much for you here?’

Dan nodded again and pulled his arms around himself. Phil was speaking to him in a perfectly normal, calm tone. This was strange to Dan. When he panicked around family or friends they would either get extremely flustered or just annoyed at him. Phil was acting like nothing was wrong.

‘Okay, how about we head over to my flat for a bit? It’s just around the corner and I have plenty of chocolate and stuff, is that okay for you?’

Dan nodded again. His mind was mostly blank now, overtaken by the white empty noise of anxiety, everything and nothing at the same time. He barely understood what Phil was saying.

                Phil tidied up all the paperwork, placed it in Dan’s briefcase, then handed it to him. Dan held it to his chest, trying not to vomit. Phil grabbed his bag and his crutches, then ushered Dan out of the Starbucks. Dan was unable to look at him, he simply fixed his gaze on his shoes and tried to block out the unbearable noise and warmth and endless flow of people of the London street in May.

                Then Phil hailed a taxi and they tumbled inside, and Dan’s world became immediately a lot smaller and more manageable.


	6. Chapter 6

Dan kept his head between his knees for most of the taxi journey, his eyes squeezed shut. Phil kept a hand on his back, rubbing up and down, trying to comfort him. It wasn’t working. Phil’s touch made Dan even more anxious.

                When they reached their destination, Dan attempted to sit up and reach a shaking hand into his wallet, but Phil stopped him. Dan followed Phil across the road, his knees weak and his head spinning. Phil pulled out his keys, balancing on his crutches. He opened the door and they walked up a flight of grey-carpeted stairs. This took a considerable amount of time, considering Phil’s crutches and the fact that Dan couldn’t really breathe.

                All the while, Phil would say short sentences of encouragement to him in a soft voice, like; ‘You’ll be okay,’ and ‘We’re nearly there, now.’ Part of Dan longed for Phil to pull him into his arms and just hold him until he felt better, and another part just wanted to crawl into a dark hole and never see Phil, or anyone else, ever again.

                They came to another door, then even more stairs. Phil made joked that this was ‘literally the worst flat for someone who finds it hard enough not to trip over his own feet’ and Dan laughed, weakly. Phil directed him ahead, down a grey hallway and into a spacious lounge. It had a purple suede sofa and a large crystal chandelier. Dan avoided looking at the chandelier, suddenly pierced by the fear that it might fall on him.

‘Sit down there and relax for a few minutes. Can I get you a drink? Water, orange juice, tea, coffee? I have hot chocolate as well, I mean, I know its May, but-‘

‘H-hot chocolate sounds lovely,’ Dan stuttered, a considerable amount of effort going into just forming the words.

‘Hot chocolate, coming up!’

                Phil loped off, out of the lounge and towards the kitchen. Dan was left alone. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, chesty breaths for a minute. Little by little, the tension began to leave his shoulders and back. His breathing evened out. Dan felt very tired now, like he had just done some strenuous physical exercise. He opened his eyes and settled back into a crease in the sofa.

Dan looked around the room. There were plants in every corner of the room; some ferns, some tropical ones, a few bonsai trees on the windowsill. They all seemed impeccably healthy. The television was in a corner beside the fireplace. It had a PlayStation, Xbox and Wii nestled underneath it in a tangle of cables. There was a large shelving unit in the corner of the room, full of DVDs, games and boxsets.

Dan felt an urge to go over and turn on one of the consoles. He had to sell all his consoles last year when he got behind on rent. He really missed being able to pick up a controller and just forget everything for a few hours. He walked over and began leafing through the shelf of games. They weren’t in alphabetical order, which made him a little uncomfortable, but all his favourites were there; Skyrim, Mario Kart, Donkey Kong, Zelda, Portal, Halo… Dan felt literal tears rise prick at his eyes. Oh god, what he wouldn’t do to just stay here forever, cuddled up with Phil, gaming…pangs of longing started up in his chest, whether it was for Phil or the games he didn’t know.

‘Dan! Hot chocolate’s ready!’ Phil shouted from the kitchen. ‘I would bring it into you, but I would drop it everywhere!’

‘C-coming!’ Dan stuttered, hurriedly re-shelving the videogames so that they looked like they hadn’t been touched. He made his way down the hallway into the kitchen.

                Phil was turned away from him, facing the microwave. All the cupboards were wide open, something that made Dan feel instantly uncomfortable. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers, fighting the urge to close them all. Phil turned to Dan, and gestured at a steaming Mickey Mouse mug on the countertop.

‘You’re meant to heat it on the stove, but I did it on the microwave ‘cause I’m lazy. It’s just Cadbury’s powder, nothing fancy,’ Phil said. The microwave beeped and he pulled out a giftshop mug from Universal Studios.

‘Th-that’s perfect, thank you,’ Dan said, picking up his hot chocolate. They both stood there in silence for a few moments, sipping.

‘So-er-are you feeling better?’ Phil asked.

‘Yeah, I’ve calmed down…Listen Phil, I’m really really sorry about what happened. I’ve never had one in public before-I- thank you so much. I’ll just finish this hot chocolate and head home and I’ll be out of your hair-‘

Phil scoffed. ‘Ab-soloutely not, and don’t worry about it, I’ve had a lot of practice with this kind of thing. Now,’ he balanced on his crutches, looking Dan up and down. ‘I don’t mean to be mean, but you look really shook up, Dan.’

‘No, I’m fine, really…’ Dan ran shaky fingers through his fringe and avoided the other man’s gaze. Dan didn’t feel fine. He felt exhausted and ashamed and confused and lovesick and basically as if he could start panicking again at any second.

‘I wouldn’t feel right sending you out. You’re almost as pale as I am.’

Dan just took another sip in silence, considering. ‘Well, I’ll stay for half an hour, I guess. Just till I’m feeling better…’

‘Yay!’ Phil said, beaming. He knocked back the rest of his drink. There was an awkward silence. They both stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak.

‘Er- nice game collection you have, um, by the way,’ Dan said.

‘Oh, thank you! That’s where all my BBC salary goes,’ Phil laughed, then put on a serious face, and dropped his voice two octaves. ‘Would you like to play a game?’

Dan blinked. ‘Isn’t it “I want to play a game?”’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t want to be _too_ creepy- you might not have seen Saw...’

‘I’d love to play, actually.’

                Phil crutched his way into the lounge and they picked out a game to play. Dan selected Mario Kart, because it was the only one he was certain he wouldn’t mess up. Phil crouched on the floor to put the disk into the Wii. His failure of a belt meant that the neon Sonic boxers he was wearing were very visible. Dan averted his gaze and crossed his legs, willing his face not to go red. Phil sat up next to him as the loading screen flashed up.

‘I’ll have to warn you, I’m pretty good at this game.’ Dan said. ‘I’ve beat Japanese people online and everything.’

‘What? That’s no fair!’ Phil protested, as he selected Tanooki Mario as his avatar. ‘Okay, well you’re going to have to have a handicap of some kind.’

Dan selected Waluigi. ‘Awh, you’re not serious…’ he said, distracted as Phil leaned in and took his controller. Phil scrolled through the car options and selected one.

‘What? You get the fastest car with the fastest wheels and I get a cat car with cushion wheels? Oh god… might as well compliment it with a parasol.’

‘Which one do you want to play?’ Phil asked, scrolling through the racetracks.’

‘How about we ease ourselves in with Sweet, Sweet Canyon?’

‘This one makes me so hungry,’ Phil said, as it flashed up on screen.

‘Wow, a caramel waterfall, I wanna expose my nipples to that-‘  Dan joked, then immediately regretted. _Why did he always have to say the weirdest things?_

‘I wanna eat everything,’ Phil said, not mentioning the massive faux pas Dan had just made.

                They proceeded to play, mostly in silence but with the occasional witty/weird quip from Phil. Dan wasn’t on top form. It was difficult to resist the temptation to sneak glances at the other man, and even a momentary glimpse could throw him off. Even so, he managed first place in their first two games.

                For their third one Phil chose the animal crossing track. It had a Christmassy theme and was full of snow and log cabins. This was one of Dan’s old favourites, he had played it many times and knew every twist and turn like the back of his hand.

‘All or nothing!’ Phil said, turning to him as the loading screen came up. Dan started to complain, but the sight of Phil’s puppy dog eyes silenced him immediately.

The game started and Dan slid easily into first and was well ahead all the way until the final lap. Dan yawned as he turned a corner. He had this in the bag.

‘Don’t you yawn, I am right up your bum,’ Phil said. This remark startled Dan. He looked over at Phil’s screen and realised that he had gained quite a bit of ground.

‘Aaaah noooo-‘  disaster struck as Dan ploughed into a snowman. He tried to get back on track but he was hit by squid ink from Phil and a red shell from a CPU in quick succession. Dan tried in vain to regain ground but it was too late. Phil was already way ahead of him. He let out a groan as Phil crossed the finish line and whooped triumphantly.

                Phil’s celebrations were interrupted by his phone ringing. The ringtone was the cutesy, jaunty ‘Temmie Village’ theme from Undertale. Dan made a mental note to ask Phil about his favourite games later. Phil dug around in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out an iPhone with a fuschia cover.

‘Hello?’ he answered, smiling. ‘Oh, sugar! I am so sorry-‘ Phil looked at his watch. ‘I’ll get a taxi right now, sorry,’ he looked over at Dan, ‘I lost track of time.’

Dan leapt to his feet, dropping his Wii controller, words falling out of his mouth. ‘Oh god Phil I’ve made you late for work I am so sorry I’ll leave right now I-‘ and then all of a sudden he was dizzy and the ground was rushing towards him and everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7

Phil’s face swam above him. Dan smiled. He was having such a lovely dream… He closed his eyes, not wanting to wake up.

‘Dan, Dan? Are you alright?’

Dan rolled to the side and mumbled; ‘Mum, just five more miiinutes….’

‘Sorry? Dan? Dan?’ He felt himself being gently shaken. ‘Oh god, I better call an ambulance-‘

That last sentence jerked Dan back into reality. His eyes snapped open and he remembered where he was. Dan was lying on the wooden floor of Phil Lester’s lounge, having just passed out because of his failure of a body.

‘Hello there, yes this is an emergency, my friend has just collapsed-’

The meaning of that sentence didn’t hit Dan at first. He couldn’t hear himself think over  _FRIEND FRIEND FRIEND FRIEND_ sounding like a klaxon in his brain. He blinked, his vison clearing. Phil’s leg and the wooden floor came into focus. Then he realised what was happening.

‘No no no no n-no, I’m alright,’ Dan pulled himself jerkily up to a seated position. That motion made him feel dizzy again. He swayed a little, holding on to Phil’s arm to stop himself from falling.

‘He-er-he’s awake now but I don’t think he’s very well at all- um-‘

‘No, NO PHIL, tell them I have ORTHO-STATIC HYPER-TENSION,’ Dan explained, carefully enunciating each syllable.  ‘I’m going to be fine, okay, I  _am_  fine.’

‘He’s telling me he has…’ Phil looked confusedly at Dan as he said this, ‘ortho-static hypotension? Er, I’m going to hang up and talk to him for a bit, I might call you again, hold off on the ambulance for now, okaythankyoubyee-‘ he hung up.

                Phil just sat there for a little while, not saying anything as Dan gave a little rambly explanation of what had just happened. As Dan reached the end of his explanation, he realised that Phil’s eyes seemed a little shiny.

‘-so, yeah, I just faint if I stand up too fast, nothing life-threatening, er- Phil? Are you alright?’

‘Yeah, I-I just-‘ Phil’s voice cracked. He looked up towards the ceiling, away from Dan and breathed in shakily. ‘I just got a little scared, that’s all.’

Dan felt pain in his chest. Not because of his minor heart condition, but because of the potent mix of longing and guilt and sadness that was building up inside of him.

‘D-Dan, this might sound weird, but, can I have a hug?’ Phil whispered, drying his eyes with his sleeve.

‘Of course, Phil,’ Dan scooted over to him across the floor. He reached his arms out, and the tailored shoulders in his suit jacket hitched up awkwardly. He turned aside for a moment and took it off. Then he drew his arms around Phil in an awkward embrace. Phil nuzzled his face into Dan’s shoulder, placing his hands at the small of Dan’s back.

 Dan was confused as to why Phil was reacting like this. Usually people just laughed at him when he fainted. He was so tall it was like watching a tree being felled. He wanted to ask Phil what was wrong, but he couldn’t find the words.

                They stayed like that for a little while. Dan could feel the warmth of Phil’s skin beneath his purple tie-dye t-shirt. It was driving him crazy. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself from tangling his fist in Phil’s hair and pressing their mouths together. He rubbed his hand up and down Phil’s back, trying to comfort him.

‘Okay-er- I had really better go to the studio now,’ Phil moved a little, lifting up his watch behind Dan’s ear. For an eternal moment, they stayed still. Dan could hear the watch softly ticking. Dan nodded and then slowly stood up and helped Phil into his crutches.

‘Dan, I would really prefer if you stayed here, at least until I come back,’ Phil said, looking Dan straight in the eye. Dan opened his mouth to protest but Phil interrupted him. ‘You have had a panic attack and fainted already today. You’re not in a fit state to go home by yourself.’

                Dan nodded slowly. He couldn’t disagree. He felt extremely unsteady on his feet, and there was no going against that mixture of concern and conviction in Phil’s voice. Phil shifted himself on his crutches, showed Dan where the food was, telling him to help himself. He also told Dan that he could play any game, watch any movie, read any book he wanted in the house, as long as he kept Phil’s plants safe. Dan just kept nodding and saying ‘okay…alright…okay,’ quietly.

                Phil called up a taxi and left a few minutes later. Dan plonked himself down on the suede sofa, suddenly realising that he had forgotten to ask when Phil would be back. He considered texting him, then gave up on the idea, feeling it was a little clingy. He walked into the kitchen and closed all the cupboards that Phil had left open. Then he made himself a cup of cereal. He wandered back out to the lounge, feeling a little lost.

                Dan flipped through Phil’s collection. He felt lethargic. He didn’t really feel like doing anything. He checked his phone and his heart flipped a little. Phil was  _late._ He was due on the TV in only a few minutes. Dan swallowed. He really hoped that he would make it. How had he managed to faint at such an inopportune time? Why did he have to have a panic attack in the middle of a coffee shop? Why did his body do this to him? He must have ruined Phil’s day… Oh, god what was he doing with that hug? He had completely crossed the lawyer-client boundary, if his boss knew where he was right now he would be dead!

                Dan turned on the BBC and pulled his knees up to his chest, hating himself. Two news segments passed by without him taking them in. Then Phil appeared on screen, beaming as always. He had changed into a smart grey suit. His tie was a little crooked and he straightened it on camera.

_‘Sorry I am a little late, everyone, one of my friends was feeling poorly and I had to take care of them! Anyways, onwards with the weather! Today is looking cloudier than yesterday, generally speaking…’_

                There was that word again.  _Friend._  Phil had called Dan his friend on TV in front of millions of people. That counted for something, but Dan wasn’t exactly sure what. He pushed all the negative, confusing thoughts out of his head and sat back and relaxed. Phil was, as always, his happy, bubbly self on camera. However, Dan couldn’t help but notice that there was a touch of something in his eyes. Worry, or unsettlement, perhaps. Or maybe Dan was just projecting.

                Phil spun around in his chair to sign off and winked at the camera. Dan switched off the TV, suddenly extremely exhausted. The sky had grown grey outside and it was getting dark. He picked up a blanket that was draped over one of the armrests. He kicked off his shoes and lay down on the sofa. He arranged some of the cushions under his head. If he could just doze for a little while, he would feel better. Dan closed his eyes and let everything slip away.


	8. Chapter 8

The world shifted and Dan woke up with a start. It was dark and he was blind. He had his head propped against a very uncomfortable pillow. He propped himself up on his elbows and rubbed the back of his neck. It hurt a little. He must have fallen asleep in an awkward position.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I woke you up, didn’t I?

Dan turned around. Phil was sitting at the end of the sofa. He was holding his phone which had the brightness turned all the way down. It made his face glow an eerie phosphorescent grey in the dark. Dan realised that the uncomfortable pillow had, in fact, been Phil’s legs. Dan felt his face go bright red, and rubbed his sore neck. How absolutely embarrassing.

‘No, um- not at all…’

                Then there were a few moments of hubris; Dan looking at Phil looking at Dan in the gloom. Dan’s mind was churning, willing Phil to mention the fact that his lawyer had been sleeping in his lap, anything to break the silence that was hanging between them. Phil’s face, illuminated from below, was frustratingly unreadable.

In the end, it was Dan who spoke. ‘I better be going now.’ One half of himself wished that Phil would refuse to let him leave and make him stay the night; the other half wanted to run, run far away.

Phil said nothing, but shifted himself on the sofa a few inches closer to Dan. Dan noticed Phil’s eyes were shining again. Phil lifted his hand, as if to reach out to Dan. Dan’s heart began to beat faster.

And then the brightness on Phil’s phone timed out, they were both plunged into darkness.

‘Yes, I guess you’d better be going. I’ll show you out.’ Phil stood up from the sofa and turned on the lights in the lounge. Dan sat there, blinking in the sudden glare, his eyes burning. The spell had been broken. They were now a lawyer and a client, in a situation they should have otherwise never found themselves in.

                Dan grabbed his briefcase, and Phil walked him down the stairs of his apartment. They both paused in the stairwell, unsure how to say goodbye. Dan stuck out his hand and they settled for a handshake. There was no mention of when they would see each other again, only an exchange of ‘See ya’s’. Dan stepped out onto the street. He didn’t have money for a taxi. He didn’t know where the nearest night bus was. So he walked.

                Forty-five minutes later, he reached his apartment. He was tired and hungry, and the walking had rubbed right through one of his mismatched socks. After a classic supper of crunchy nut cereal and slightly cheesy-smelling milk, Dan tore off his clothes and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was 3 am and his brain was wide awake.

                His anxiety was high pitched and unavoidable, a noise screaming in his ears. Right now there was one thought that rose above the rest. He’d fucked things up with Phil. Today, or yesterday, rather, had gone from legal meeting/date to utter disaster in the space of several minutes. After an hour of tossing and turning and sweating in the still night heat of London, he gave up. He padded out to the kitchen in his socks, and pulled a shoebox out from above one of the rickety plywood cupboards.

                Dan held the small yellow bottle in his hands. He took one sleeping pill, then another. He knew exactly how many were left- precisely 47. It was enough. He could swallow them and never have to worry about anything else, ever. Dan closed his eyes and thought about letting go, how good it felt to let your mind disintegrate. For a moment, he stood in the kitchen in his underpants and let his mind roam to places that would make his ex-therapist break into a cold sweat.

                But then the heavy weight of sleep began to tug at the edges of his consciousness. He placed the sleeping pills back in their shoebox, back above the cupboards. As he lay in bed, drifting off to sleep he went over the positives in his life. It was a feeble attempt at cleaning out the darkness that was beginning to settle in his brain yet again. And in spite of all that had happened, all the mistakes Dan had made, all his muggy brain could come up with was one word, one name.

Phil.

***

                The next morning, Dan’s ringtone woke him up. He groaned. He didn’t want to even open his eyes, let alone leave the soft cocoon of his bed to answer the phone. As always, he had left at the other side of the room, as a last ditch attempt to actually get himself out of bed in the morning. If he could just stay in bed today and pretend his problems didn’t exist, maybe everything would be alright. But the phone kept ringing, and all the things that Dan had to worry about didn’t go away.

                He wrenched himself out of bed and checked the caller ID. His stomach sank in disappointment. Cat Valdes was the last person he wanted to talk to right now.

**‘Heya.’**

‘Cat, it’s a Sunday, what do you want?’

**‘A little birdy told me that you weren’t feeling very well.’**

‘I’m _fine_. Never better. Who told you that?’

‘ **A certain Mr. P. Lester, your client, the weatherman from the BBC? I woke up to a _very_ concerned email from him this morning.’**

Dan swallowed, certain that he was in very big trouble. ‘W-hat did he tell you?’

At the other end of the line, Cat switched the phone from one hand to the other and scrolled down Phil’s email on her laptop. **‘Just a little something about you having a fucking _panic attack_ in the middle of your last meeting…’ **She paused as she reread one of the sentences. **‘And he may have mentioned that you told him, and I quote** **“I don’t know if I can do this.”’**

_Oh, fuck._ Dan thought. _How much had Phil told her?_ ‘Cat, he’s overreacting, I was just a little freaked out, that’s all.’

**‘”I am really worried about Dan and I didn’t know who else to go to. I hope you can assure that he is getting the help and support that he needs”’ - Dan, what the fuck?’**

‘It really wasn’t that bad at all, I swear-‘

Cat took a second to breathe before she spoke again. **‘You told me at the Christmas party you were going to get help.’**

‘I am getting help!’ Dan lied. ‘It’s just difficult to go every single week, therapy is so expensive in London.’

**‘Listen.’** There was an edge to Cat’s voice. **‘Take this as a verbal warning. You are going to sort your shit out, or you are going to be in serious trouble, like, CEO, final notice trouble.’**

‘What? Who says you can give me a verbal warning?’

**‘I am an associate, and you are still not finished your training contract, so technically I am your boss.’**

‘Fine, but still-‘

**‘No buts. You were already skating on thin ice with that mess you made of the O’Sullivan case. And all that shit at Christmas too, fucking hell…I’m not gonna keep covering your ass forever, Howell. This client is one we want to keep- he’s on the news every single night, for fuck’s sake-’**

Dan swallowed, feeling fear settle in his stomach. Cat continued to talk.

**‘We wouldn’t have even given you this case had he not requested you in particular. But this isn’t a fucking parking ticket, it’s a _car crash_ , capiche?’**

Dan lifted the phone a little away from his face and sighed. He sat up in the bed, the air cold against his bare chest. ‘I understand. I’ll sort things out.’

**‘Well, at the bottom of this email this Lester guy says that he’s still happy to keep you as his representation. This guy must be crazier than you are.’**

Dan let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, relief flooding his senses. ‘What else did he tell you?’

**‘That’s about it really…wait, is there more?’**

‘No, er-not at all,’ Dan said, a little too quickly. ‘I-er- after all that I made my excuses and went to calm down in a public toilet.’ 

**‘Alright then... How far along are you in this case, anyway?**

‘Well, er- I filed the case a few days ago, I have police reports and statements all ready to go, I’ve looked over precedent cases I read about in college…and later on today…’ Dan took the phone away from his ear for a moment to check the time, his eyes widening. ‘Later on today I have a meeting with Mr. Liguori so he can sign his side of the conditional fee agreement.’

**‘That doesn’t sound totally shit. Well done. Now, I don’t want to hear anything else about this until court day, you got that?’**

‘Got it, Cat. I’ll leave you now, I’ve got to-er go do some…stuff.’

**‘Alright,’** Cat said, a tinge of knowing laughter in her voice. **‘Say ciao to this Italian guy from me.’**

Before she had even hung up the phone, Dan was already pulling on yesterday’s suit. In front of the hall mirror, he rearranged his hair and checked that his limited facial hair definitely didn’t need a shave. He dodged the mounting pile of bills on his doormat and slammed the apartment door behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

By the grace of God, Buddha, Lord Pewdiepie and all other official and unofficial deities, Mr. PJ Liguori (Barrister, LlB. MA.) had suggested a café that was only 10 minutes away from Dan’s apartment. Dan jogged most of the way, briefcase in hand, only pausing every so often to hack up one of his lungs. He definitely needed to go to the gym one of the days, his fitness was deplorable.

After nearly banging into a disgruntled elderly woman, he stopped running. He was only 3 minutes late (a personal record) and the café was just around the corner. He ducked in beside a bus stop to catch his breath, bent over with his hands on his knees. As he did so, the familiar feeling of dread washed over him.  

He could turn around right here, and go back to his apartment. Text this barrister guy that he was sorry, but he couldn’t make it today. Phone Cat and tell her that he was quitting his job. He could draft a final note and curl up in bed with those 47 pills and swallow them one by one and fall asleep and feel nothing and feel nothing forever.

But Dan didn’t do it. He caught his breath, stood up and walked around the corner. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of dark thoughts that had come upon him a few moments earlier, repeating one of those stupid ‘positive mantras’ to himself. He had tried them a few months before.

_I am loved. I am valuable. I am attractive. I am loved, I am valuable, I am attractive-_

                Though he had read online that similar sayings had brought people like him out of the doldrums and into a glitteringly successful recovery, he had still never gotten over the cheese factor.

A small boy stared, a mixture of curiosity and fear on his face. His mother dragged him away by the hand, her eyes firmly fixed on the pavement. It was then that Dan realised he had, in fact, been muttering under his breath. His face flaming, Dan quickly ducked out of the street and descended the metal steps towards the coffee shop.

Turnpenny Café was located in the converted basement of a wonderfully crumbling Victorian building, wedged in between a high-rise and a dentist’s office. It was a replica teahouse of the era, and thanks to the British taste in equal measure for costume dramas and overpriced scones, it did a roaring trade. It had never been to Dan’s taste. His long legs never fit properly under the antique card tables, and he was always unsure of what to do with all the paraphernalia of bone china and sugar-spoons.

The door of the place was open and a healthy buzz of chatter emanated from within. Dan ducked through the doorframe- and was transported into the 19th century. Or at least that was what the dusty typeset slogan hung on the opposing wall said. He cast his eyes up and down the small space, searching for someone who looked to be of Italian descent.

There was the obligatory smattering of tourists, their plastic raincoats and exhausted expressions marking them out from the rest. And there was a small group of Lolitas nudged away in the corner, giggling and adjusting their corsets and wigs. Then, Dan’s eyes locked with those of a very gangly, very smiley man who had folded himself somehow into a tiny Victorian dining chair. He grinned at Dan and waved.

‘Hullo, Dan Howell, is it?’ he said, standing up all of a sudden, nearly upsetting the crumpets of the disgruntled Scandinavian couple beside him. This man was very tall, taller than Dan himself, had a curly mop of brown hair just bordering on the unprofessional and very striking greenish-blue eyes.

 ‘Yes,’ Dan walked over and shook the other man’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr. eh-Liguori?’

‘Please, call me PJ,’ he said, taking Dan’s hand between both of his and shaking with gusto. ‘Sorry, I was a bit hungry-‘ he said, gesturing towards the remains of what looked to be several pastries. ‘I’m going to get a pot of tea. Do you want anything?’

‘Er-’ Dan squinted at the menu in the gloom, printed in neat cursive on a board behind the counter. They had macchiatos, and he considered ordering a caramel, before catching sight of the calories just beneath it. ‘Actually, you know what, I’m alright for now.’

                PJ nodded and went up to order. Dan sat in the tiny chair in front of him, lifting the table up slightly to fit his legs underneath. He sat there, momentarily dazed, watching as his future fellow attorney in the court threaded his way, awkwardly through the café’s crowded seating area. On reaching the counter, he immediately began an animated conversation with the barista working the milk steamer. Dan looked down, blinked, and then opened his briefcase to sort through the files they needed.

                PJ arrived a few moments later, bearing a small tray laden with a teapot and two blue china cups. As he moved past, a small stream of weak tea poured out of the teapot onto the napkin of the (now extremely disgruntled) tourists sitting beside them. PJ didn’t seem to notice.

‘Hullo again,’ PJ beamed.

‘Friend of yours, is it?’ Dan said, looking over at the barista.

‘Oh yes, Phil and I go way back. We used to be involved in a little something called youtube video-blogging, that’s how we met.’ PJ said, pouring himself a cup of tea.

‘No, er- I didn’t mean..’ Dan trailed off, PJ looking up at him in confusion. ‘Nothing, nevermind…so you were Youtubers, were you?’

‘Indeed! I still dabble in filmmaking actually, but of course Phil moved on to bigger and better things within the machinations of the BBC.’

‘Interesting.’ Dan said, turning over the new information in his mind. ‘I’m quite a fan of youtube myself, actually.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Yeah, I even thought about starting up my own channel when I was in uni, but I guess, never had the guts, really.’

‘Oh dear, that’s a pity,’ PJ said, looking genuinely disappointed. There was a moment of silence before Dan jumped in with another question.

‘So, you still make videos, but Phil?’

‘Yes, unfortunately the BBC forced him to private all his old videos when they hired him.’ PJ slurped his tea loudly. ‘They were _‘a hindrance to his professional career’,_ I believe that’s what they told him. He was pretty devastated, he had a small but rather dedicated following, actually.’

‘Gosh…’ Dan said, making a mental note to do some serious googling later.

‘Anyway, let’s move onto this case, shall we? What information do you have for me?’

                The next half hour or so were taken up with going through the case files. As always, going through the conditional fee agreement (which Phil had thankfully signed) and the legislation took a lot less time than it would with a client. In university, legal language had made Dan want to scoop his eyes out with a spoon, but it turns out it came in very handy when the two parties in a conversation were fluent in it.

‘Any news on the culprit?’ PJ asked, scanning through the judge’s statement on a similar case that happened three years previous.

‘Very little, I’m afraid. He’s being held by the police at this very moment. Phil told me that they had found out that he was driving a stolen car, but that’s all I’m aware of.’

‘Oh really? ‘Cause I got an email this morning from him, informing me of this guy’s name- here, let me pull it up for you…’

                Dan frowned, feeling simultaneously confused and a little angry. Why would Phil go straight to PJ with such important information, without informing his legal counsel? How close friends were they? Wasn’t Dan was supposed to be the buffer between Phil and the complicated world of wig-wearing barristers and legalese?

_Oh yes,_ Dan thought. _Because you’re a panic stricken fuckup excuse for a lawyer. This PJ guy can’t even carry a tray of tea properly but he’s more trustworthy than you._

While PJ was tapping at his smartphone, Dan snuck a glance at his definitely less snazzy one. It had automatically connected to the Wi-Fi in Turnpenny café. He opened his emails, and saw that there was one from Phil, sent only a few hours ago- with a subject line that read BIG NEWS in all capital letters.

‘Here we go,’ said PJ, handing Dan his phone with a copy of that very email on it. Dan placed down his phone and speed-read.

‘Chris Kendall, 20 something from Yorkshire, has declared a few previous convictions; parking tickets, childhood shoplifting, but nothing serious…’ Dan read, out loud.

‘His name is familiar to me,’ PJ said, frowning and looking off into the middle distance. ‘But I can’t for the life of me remember why…’ He took another loud slurp of his tea, a noise which Dan was beginning to find irritating. ‘Oh well, it’ll come back to me.’

‘Anyway…’ Dan said.

‘Anyway, that’s it really, isn’t it, for now?’ PJ asked. Dan was stunned momentarily, caught in the gaze of those clear green eyes.

‘Er- yes, I believe so,’ he said, sorting through the rest of his files. ‘When I’ve got all the information and I’ve finished drawing up the case we can meet again. Sort out a game plan, talk about your opening speech, all that.’

‘Of course,’ PJ said. ‘Don’t you worry about my side of things; I wrote my dissertation on non-pecuniary loss in college. It’s not my current speciality, but I’ve still got quite a good handle on it.’ He stood up and shook Dan’s hand across the table. Dan felt incredibly small and unqualified all of a sudden.

PJ hitched up his suit jacket and glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better be going, now, I’ve got to meet a friend in the City. I’ll leave you this to cover my debts,’ he said, pulling a twenty pound note out of his wallet and laying it down on the table.

‘See you soon, Mr. Liguori-er-PJ,’ Dan said, but PJ was already out of the door of the café loping up the metal stairs into the muggy London sunshine.


	10. Chapter 10

Dan stared at the twenty pounds, which lay on top of a crocheted doily. It was the last week of the month. He had run out of cash, and the few savings he had in his bank account had been swallowed by overdue bills. Dan had been eating cereal for breakfast and dinner for the last few days. An unwelcome thought popped into his mind- _I could take this money, and run._ He shook his head, dispelling it. He would only get a few feet down the road before he had another anxiety attack. Dan on a good day was about as daring as cottage cheese.

                He went up to the counter and paid, and happily was left with a little over 5 pounds of change. He left the café, treading a little lighter than when he had entered. He now had enough money to buy food! It was nearing lunchtime and he hadn’t had a decent meal since the slightly chewy pasta bake he had found at the bottom of the office fridge two days before.

He walked a few minutes until he reached his favourite greasy 24hr ramen bar and bought a big box of Pad Thai to take away, thankful that the calories contained in his portion were not displayed anywhere very visible. He then headed back to his apartment.

                He sat at the small table in his kitchen, his face buried in noodles and chicken. It was so good to have a proper hot meal… with every mouthful he picked up with his chopsticks, Dan felt some strength return to him, some vital thing that had been missing from him over the last few weeks. When he reached the end of the box, he sat back, hand on his stomach. He was totally content. Perhaps he could take a nap now, like the Spanish do, a siesta.

                He was on his way to his bedroom when he remembered that it was a Sunday. He had a lot of things to do before he returned to work the next day. Not only did he have to find out as much as possible about this Chris Kendall guy, but he also had two other cases on the boil. Not to mention that he was meant to be covering one of his colleagues who was off on holidays, or that since he had just finished his training contract he was treated as a general dogsbody; his co-workers offloading the work they didn’t want to do on him.

                Dan grabbed his laptop from his briefcase. He sat down on his bed and fired it up. It was old, nearly outdated, the one his parents bought him before he went to university. It shuddered into life in his hands and he lay back on his bed, folding his spine into an unnatural, yet familiar position. He opened his company email and attempted to do some work.

However, a short while later, he found himself reading the first paragraph of a client email for the fourth time, still without understanding a single sentence.

_Alright, I’ll take a break for a few minutes._

                Seconds later, he had fallen headfirst down the rabbit hole. He scrolled for a little bit, but there was nothing new on his various social media or his subscriptions. Then he remembered; he had yet to stalk Phil’s old youtube channel. There was a whole other side to Phil, a whole previous life that he had yet to explore. Dan felt elated, almost giddy.

 He brought up the google homepage and typed in a few generic searches- ‘phil lester youtube,’ ‘british youtuber phil lester’ but there was nothing, even several pages in to Google’s search results. He checked Phil’s Wikipedia page, but there was nothing on there about his earlier years bar his birthdate. He saw with dismay that the page had been locked for editing to one particular user- BBC International.

                Several searches later, Dan came across something that piqued his interest. It was a tumblr blog, entitled ‘The last of the Philions.’ Dan clicked into it. A clunky, yet somehow charming theme sprung up.  Dan noticed the collage of vintage pictures of Phil used as a background, glad to find that he was in the right place after all. The description of the blog read as follows;

**An archive to hold all the remaining evidence of the YT phenomenon that was AmazingPhil. Submissions box is open. If you find that one of the links doesn’t work (*cough* thanks BBC *cough*) then please inform us in the ask box. Rawr.**

The blog; philion-archive-ftw.tumblr.com seemed to be still up and running- occasionally. The majority of the recent posts were screengrabs from Phil’s own twitter or gifs from his BBC weather show. They received a smattering of notes, but this was certainly one of the more underground fandoms. Dan kept scrolling.

A link popped up, the caption beneath it reading; ‘To celebrate Phil’s 29th birthday, here’s a link to the video that birthed his channel! Password is lion1987. Full archive masterpost here.’ Dan clicked on the link and entered the password.

‘Hello, my name’s Phil and welcome to my video blog.’

The video was horrendous quality, black and white, obviously filmed on a webcam from the dark ages. Phil’s hair was much longer and his northern accent was a thousand times stronger than it currently was. However, his personality was still there, bubbly and talkative as always. Late-2000s Phil took Dan on a strange journey through his preparations for Mother’s day in a chatty, rambling vlog style.

                When it was over, Dan immediately wanted more. He clicked on the masterpost link, and was immediately granted with a lengthy list of Phil’s videos. Each bullet carried the title of the video and the date it was posted- a timespan of more than 8 years. Many of them had the word ‘broken’ in brackets beside them.

                Dan clicked on a few at random and watched them. Again, he was greeted with a younger Phil- longer haired, Manchester-accented and a little wackier in the way he conducted himself. The videos were short, strange and often hilarious. Some were classic vlogs, videos of his holidays or entertaining digressions on particular incidents in his life. Others were simply strange; where Phil for seemingly no reason would dress up as a woman, lip-sync Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’ or get eaten by a possessed wash basket.

                By the time he had finished his video odyssey, it was evening time. Dan stood up and changed out of his sweaty suit, which he chucked unceremoniously on the floor. He wished, for the eight millionth time since he had arrived in London, that his apartment had come with air conditioning.

                He tried to do even a little bit of work, but after that marathon youtube session his motivation had been halved. Stalking the probable culprit Chris Kendall was equally impossible, there were about 8 million people of that name on Facebook. On the fifth Chris Kendall down, he did encounter a man from Yorkshire who looked to be around the right age, but his Facebook was so heavily privated there was little else to see.

However, on the ‘more info’ part of his profile, beneath the automatically generated email address, Dan did find a link to a Youtube channel. But, it seemed this was a dud also, as its strange name and low number of followers marked it out as an amateur one, and it was doubtful that Phil would have any relation to him.

                After another fruitless attempt to deal with the emails that were piling up in his inbox, Dan called it a night. He poured himself a bowl of dry, chewy cornflakes (there was no milk left) and settled down in front of the TV to watch the news. But he had forgotten that Sunday was Phil’s night off. The weather segment had been taken over by an irritatingly insipid-sounding man in a dull grey suit. Dan turned off the TV as soon as he came on and sat there in the dark.

                He trudged off to bed, a whole world of worry whirling in his brain. That night, Dan again found it impossible to sleep. It was 3.30am and he had been staring at the widening cracks in his ceiling for so long they began to waver in front of his eyes.

The world was just too loud. Everything was too much. There were so many things he had to do, and they all crowded his brain. They stopped him from stringing together a single coherent thought. After a while he had begun, as usual, to question his entire existence. What was the point of it all? Did this job, this mundane slog of a life really matter in the grand scheme of the universe, or was he just a waste of space?

                It seemed like his entire being was screaming at him to go, go out to the kitchen and take a sleeping pill.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning on this chapter, scroll down to end notes for details.

Dan reached for his phone to distract himself. This time, thank Shrek, he had left it on his bedside table. He attempted to scroll through social media to take his mind off things, but, if anything that made things worse. He couldn’t even bring himself to watch youtube videos, which was something that usually cheered him up immediately.

In every single video he attempted to watch, there was something that reminded him of something that reminded him of everything. All his favourite youtubers had morphed from genuinely interesting people to an uncomfortable reminder of all the dreams he had left behind at 19. They were all younger and more successful than he was, and it exhausted him. Even the upbeat new single of his preferred k-pop boyband just made him feel ungainly and flabby.

As a last-ditch attempt to make himself feel better, Dan checked Phil’s twitter feed. There, among the slightly surrealist daily musings and pictures of animals was a grainy picture of Phil that seemed to have been taken in a restaurant. Dan clicked on the tweet, timestamped several hours ago.

‘PJ Liguori (@kickthepj) tweeted; Out to lunch with a very old friend, Phil Lester of BBC weather fame. Maybe some of you remember him? (lion emoji)’

                Dan smiled at the lion reference, feeling as if he was in on the joke. In nearly all of Phil’s videos, a small cuddly lion featured, who would give commentary on things through the medium of annotation boxes. Dan only clued into the fact that Phil’s followers were called Phil-lions rather than ‘phillions’ like ‘millions’ after he had watched a good few of these. However, this feeling swiftly died away when he clicked on the photo. 

                In the photo, Phil was smiling goofily at the camera, seemingly caught in the middle of a laugh. In front of him was the remains of a California roll and a bowl of miso soup. Dan felt a physical stab of jealousy twinge in his gut _. So that’s who PJ was talking about when he said he was meeting a friend in the city._ He had been deliberately enigmatic, so Dan didn’t ask him awkward questions, wanting to tag along. Perhaps they had even scheduled that lunch simply to compare notes on Dan- to bitch about him.

Or maybe there was something deeper going on between PJ and Phil? Did ‘old friends’ go out to Japanese restaurants together, alone? They probably spent half of that meal talking about how useless Dan was, and the other half kissing and holding hands. He could see it now, PJ and Phil cosied up in a booth together, rice paper shutters drawn across to keep the world out. Phil was detailing everything that happened yesterday, PJ listening with incredulity, then laughing, making jokes at his expense before imploring Phil to choose another solicitor.

In Dan’s heart he knew that most of these thoughts were ridiculous. But then again, why wouldn’t Phil tell PJ about how Dan had panicked yesterday? He had already taken it upon himself to inform one of Dan’s coworkers, without a single thought as to how Dan might feel. _No Phil,_ Dan thought. _I actually didn’t want the whole world knowing about my fucking anxiety, thank you very much._  

Dan sat up in bed, quietly seething. He stomped out into the kitchen in his socks. Maybe it was better that Phil fired him, there were thousands of solicitors who were better qualified and more suited to the job than he was. PJ probably knew loads of them. And what was he thinking, that he ever had a chance with Phil, at all? Every kindness that Phil had shown him was really just pity. Phil was better off with someone like PJ, someone dependable and not a fucking anxious basket case.

Before he could think properly about it, Dan had already pulled the shoebox out from above the fridge, already shaken out one pill, two pills, and another for good luck into his palm. He had already drafted an angry text message to Phil, he had already sent it. And only a few minutes later, he was stretched out on his bed, phone still in his hand, overcome by modern medicine.  

**Message; sent 4.25am**

**I’m not some friend you had in college, Mr. Lester, you don’t even know me and you have no right to go emailing my boss telling her I’m some fucking raving lunatic. I’m about to lose my fucking job**

********

                The next morning, Dan woke up around noon. He cursed his last-night self for taking too many pills, pulled on his (now three days old) suit and dashed out to catch the Tube. When he arrived, hours late to work, Cat gave him a long, cold look over the top of her cubicle and said nothing. Somehow, this was even worse than her telling him off. Minutes later Dan was swimming in an endless tide of emails and all the work he didn’t get done at the weekend. His head, still muggy from the night before, felt like it was going to split open.

                Dan went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. In the mirror, he clocked the stains on his suit jacket, the poufy mess of curls on his head, the dark circles under his eyes. Then, with a start, he remembered the message he had sent to Phil the night before. He dug into his pocket for his phone, feeling a rising sense of dread.

                Sure enough, Phil had replied.

**Message; received 8.20 am**

**It came from a place of concern.**

**Also, there’s no need to use so many curse words.**  

Dan scrolled up and read the message from the night before. He cringed. He hit himself in the face. He returned to the cubicle and sat on the toilet lid before his embarrassment passed and he could walk out into the office again. He didn’t reply to the message. What would he say? What could he say?

                He sat down at his desk, but now there was no hope of concentrating. Even procrastination-type-things like checking Twitter couldn’t hold his attention. He opened some old documents. Dan scrolled through them, pretending to work so that Cat or his supervisor wouldn’t come over and shout at him.

                He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up bad. Dan had already broken almost all of the rules pertaining to client negotiation and professionalism that he had learned during his training contract. Bar having a romantic relationship with a client, of course. He had just imagined everything with Phil, desperate that he was. And now what little hope he had was destroyed. He fucked up every single thing he was involved with.  It had always been like this, all through school, all through college. He was a fuckup and he was worthless.

                Then, he heard the soft _ping_ of the lift opening. Dan looked over the top of his computer, across the office. And there Phil was, hobbling out of the lift on his crutches, looking as healthy and happy and sunshiney as he did on TV. Even looking at him for a few seconds made Dan feel strangely exhausted. Phil’s eyes roamed the rows of desks, before locking gaze with Dan. They both were still for a moment, just looking at each other, both of them unsure how to act. Phil did not smile, and Dan knew him well enough now to know that was strange.

_This is the last fucking thing I need right now._

Dan jumped up, out of his chair. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he half-ran, half-walked down the aisle towards Phil. When he reached him, he didn’t stop. Phil was nearly thrown to the ground as Dan narrowly missed barging into him.

‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ Dan called over his shoulder. ‘Just need to grab something, one sec.’

                As he turned the corner he caught a glimpse of Phil. He was just standing there on his crutches in the middle of the office, looking at Dan as he strode away. There was a lost puppy look in his eyes that filled Dan with guilt as he turned away and headed for the stairs.

                As he walked through the glassy foyer of the building he bumped into one of his co-workers, returning from lunch.

‘Hey, Liz, you wouldn’t mind telling Cat that she’ll need to deal with Phil Lester, a client I have today? I’m feeling unwell, I’m going to head home.’

                She nodded, her stiffly blow-dried bob shifting slightly. ‘No problem. That sounds like a good idea, you look really ill-‘

But Dan didn’t hear her. He had already darted out of the building and into the scrum of the overcast lunch hour outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning; Abuse of prescription drugs (sleeping pills) and suicidal thoughts. Comment if you want a synopsis.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning on this chapter, scroll down to end notes for more details and synopsis.

As he pushed his way through the tide of lunchtime suits around him, a part of Dan had already begun to regret his hasty decision. But there was nothing he could do now. He just kept his head down, placing one scuffed dress shoe in front of the other. He felt every step of the journey home in his bones. Every limb pressed up against Dan in the Tube grated against something deep inside of him.

                And when he got home, he found a small white rectangle on the floor of his apartment. It seemed innocuous at first, no FINAL NOTICE stamped on the outside of it for everyone in the postal office to see. Dan opened it, then his heart sank. His hopes of good news had been utterly destroyed.

                He was two months behind on rent. And next month, they were increasing it by 20%. Just because. His salary was due soon, but after bills and his student loan he barely had twenty-five pounds to feed himself for a whole month. And he couldn’t ask for help from his parents, not again. They’d worm it out of him that he was in trouble and then they’d take him home to Reading and he’d have to deal with the barely-hidden disappointment in their eyes for months on end.

                Dan’s feet began to hurt. He blinked and realised he had just been standing in the door of his apartment for several minutes. He tried to go in and sit on his sofa, but he just couldn’t relax. So he paced up and down the tiny space from his bedroom to his kitchenette and trying in vain to calm his irregular breathing down. He muttered to himself, having a sort of conversation with a half-imagined person in his own head.

                After a while (Dan couldn’t be sure how long, his perception of time had been a little off recently) found himself standing in his kitchen, staring at the shoebox on top of the fridge. He was exhausted but he couldn’t sit down. His mind was racing but all his thoughts were wordless white noise. If he could sleep, everything would be ok. If he could sleep, he would forget about it all and wake up and everything would be fine. Or not wake up…and everything would be fine, forever.

                He found himself with the bottle of pills in his hand. Dan paused for a moment, trying to remember taking the box down from the fridge. He couldn’t. His brain felt sludgy. Thoughts had to fight their way through a thick, gluey soup before they could even begin to make sense. He shook out a few pills onto his hand, swallowing them dry. He wasn’t bothered to count them. He was so antsy; it probably wasn’t enough anyway. He swallowed another palmful. And then he remembered the bills and the text to Phil and did it again. And then he tried to shake out the rest for good luck but the bottle was empty.

                Dan was suddenly seized by the feeling that he had done something wrong, something dangerous, but then it was replaced by dizziness and a desire to vomit. He placed his hand on the edge of the sink and hung his head down over it. No, it was too messy here. He dashed out to the bathroom, his stomach churning, and then he was vomiting and there were a few furry-looking orange pills floating around in his sink mixed with bile. He didn’t feel much better. The taste in his mouth was metallic and bitter and made him want to retch again.

                Dan knew he probably should vomit again, try to get the rest out, but he suddenly felt so exhausted. He felt to his knees, the stitches straining in his suit trousers. The beige bathroom sink spun a little, then settled. His vision was being overtaken with sparkly patches. If he could just rest for a while, just lay down right here he would feel better. He slumped sideways to the floor and cracked his head on the tiles, but it didn’t hurt. The pain was dulled and distant, like a faded memory.

Some puke dribbled out of his mouth, and Dan was momentarily confused as to why it was sliding down the side of his face before the sparkles took over his vision and he was closing his eyes and it felt like he was falling but he could still feel the cold tiles underneath him and he was falling and he was disintegrating and it felt so good and he was falling-

***

There was someone in there with him. Dan heard his name being called, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater. Was that even his name? Were those strange sounds the ones that described him? His eyelids flickered open for a moment, but all they saw was sparkles. He felt pain under his armpits, a cold hard thing pressed against his chest, something in his mouth, scratching against his throat. He lost consciousness.

***

There were more voices, loud, mannish, concerned. Why wouldn’t they let him sleep? He was moved onto something soft. Where he was before had been cold and hard and different. There was that word again, that word that was his. A voice that he could almost remember, saying his name over and over and over and- ouch his arm hurt- and over and tired and over-

***

It was difficult, but he could open his eyes. All he saw was a white blur before they fell shut again. There was an incessant beeping coming from somewhere in the distance. He wanted to make someone turn it off, it was keeping him awake. He tried to move, to sit up, but he couldn’t. There was a warm, constant pressure somewhere, somewhere far away. His foot? His hand? He tried to shake it off, but it gripped tighter and wouldn’t let him free. He drifted away again, uncomfortable and annoyed.

***

                When Dan woke up this time, his vision was whiteout for several seconds before it sharpened. There was so much white, his eyes hurt. He blinked, and blinked again. There were his legs, under a thin white sheet. He wasn’t quite lying down; he was propped up from behind. He stretched out an arm to the side, and realised he couldn’t see it. His sight had narrowed to a tunnel.

                Dan’s fingers brushed against cloth, something, a curtain? He didn’t remember having a curtain right beside his bed? He turned his head and caught sight of the long white tube dangling across his right arm. It ended beneath his knuckles, in a mix of clean white tape and some sort of tap going straight into his veins. He tasted bitter bile at the back of his throat. It burned. His throat was dry and very, very painful. He had to wait for the pain to go away until he could think again.

                He was in a hospital. The curtain, the tubes, the beeping, the white sheet, these were hospital things. How had he gotten here? He must have been brought through A&E… Cold panic cut through his thoughts like a knife. A hospital visit was something Dan could definitely could not afford. How much had it cost to bring his brother in with that fractured ankle? 150 pounds?

Dan extricated himself from the bedsheet, and lifted his legs gingerly over the side. The bed-which he now realised was a hospital trolley, moved slightly on its wheels. His limbs felt rubbery and exhausted, like they hadn’t been used in a long time. The papery nightgown he had been wearing (where had they taken his clothes?) rustled loudly. He felt dizzy so he sat there for a few moments until it cleared.

Dan had to get out of here, but he was still attached to this tube. He followed it to a tall metal pole beside him, and a bag full of an innocuous clear liquid. Dan peeled back the tape of the tap on his hand, and tugged it to get it free from his skin. It hurt a little, but it was dull, not sharp and present like the pain he was used to.

                He pulled one part. The tube detached a little and began to leak the clear fluid out onto his hand in little droplets. He pulled again and there was a glint of metal between his skin and the plastic. He pulled a third time and it was a needle and it was much longer than any needle he had ever seen and there still seemed to be some of it left under his skin. Blood bubbled up around it, mixing with the water still dripping from the half-attached plastic tube. Dan yelped.

                There was a snort from beside him, and a shuffling. Dan looked down, his heart flip-flopping in his chest. Phil was sitting in a chair at the side of the bed. He had a red mark on his face from where he must have fallen asleep on his hand. He looked worn out. His face was puffy and he had big dark circles under his eyes, as well as a considerable amount of stubble. Phil blinked a few times, pulling his glasses up from where he had hung them on his V-neck jumper.

                Dan went to say something, but his voice caught in his throat. Phil put on his glasses, and focused on what Dan was doing.

‘Oh shit, Dan, what have you-‘ Phil jumped up on one leg, shoving one arm into a crutch. He drew back the curtain. A background noise that Dan had filtered out, one of half hushed voices and phones ringing, got louder. ‘NURSE,’ Phil bellowed out into the corridor. ‘NURSE.’

                A young man wearing a green shirt and matching trousers appeared in Dan’s widening line of vision. He cursed under his breath.

‘Now there, it’s no good to be messing with your IV,’ he said, leaning across Dan and unhooking the tube from its plastic bag. Dan caught sight of the ID badge pinned to his shirt pocket. It said Derek Langton, Junior Nurse.

‘No, er- there’s been a mistake, I’m not supposed to be in hospital-‘ Dan said.

He was ignored. Derek snapped on some rubber gloves and placed gauze over where Dan was still bleeding. He then ducked down into the little cupboard beside Dan and pulled out a syringe in a plastic packet and a small tube of viscous whitish liquid.

‘No,’ Dan said, ‘I don’t want any needles, no!’

‘What’s the problem here?’ There was a small older woman standing at the end of the bed, wearing a similar uniform to the nurses’, except it was a murky shade of blue. ‘Jesus _Christ_ , Derek, no, here let me do it,’ she said, approaching Dan’s right side and nudging the nurse away.

‘I’m not supposed to be here you know, this must be some kind of mistake,’ Dan said to her, pleadingly.

‘Yes dear,’ she said, not listening, attending to Dan’s hand.  

 ‘It’s ok,’ Phil said, looking up at him from the chair. He reached out his hand towards Dan’s, wavering and faltering for a second, almost changing his mind. Dan didn’t draw away, and let Phil rest his palm on top of his knuckles. ‘You’re gonna be ok, Dan. I promise.’

 Almost without thinking, like an old reflex, Dan turned over his hand and they threaded their fingers together. The warm pressure felt familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning; suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, emetophobia, needles and hospital setting. If you want to avoid reading direct descriptions of these things but still want to know what happens then read this short synopsis.
> 
> SYNOPSIS CHAPTER 12  
> Dan goes back to his apartment and finds a letter saying that his rent is going up. Suicidal thoughts get on top of him and he attempts suicide using sleeping pills. Things get hazy after this and he drifts in and out of consciousness. There seems to be a familiar voice calling his name. He wakes up in hospital and freaks out. Phil is there sitting beside him, and calls in a nurse to attend to Dan. Chapter ends with Phil telling Dan everything is going to be ok and holding his hand.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, scroll down to end notes for trigger warnings. 
> 
> I’d just like to thank everyone who has been leaving kudos and commenting on this story. It really means a lot to me to know that there are people out there who enjoy my writing. That little email telling me who has left a comment/kudos in my inbox always makes my day! <3 ~Eva

Phil left the hospital a half hour before Dan’s parents arrived. It was right really, Dan supposed, neither of them wanted to field awkward questions that they weren’t prepared, weren’t _ready_ to answer. Plus, even though his parents preferred to watch the Channel 4 News, Phil was still a minor celebrity. They would know him, and would want to know how he ended up in Dan’s bathroom, the right place at the right time.

                But it didn’t stop Dan being lonely for Phil as soon as he left. It didn’t stop him twining his fingers together to stop his hands feeling so empty. It didn’t stop him wondering when they would see each other again.      

When his parents arrived, they looked exhausted. His Dad sat down beside him and attempted to make bad jokes while his brother Adrian stood in the corner and pretended not to cry. His mother was caught up with talking to the doctors. Nobody spoke about what had happened. After a while they were all just quiet, listening to the sounds of heart attacks and broken collarbones passing by the other side of the hospital curtain.

                After nearly 24 hours spent on a trolley in A&E, Dan was moved to another ward of the hospital. They wouldn’t even let him walk there. He was moved into a wheelchair and pushed there by a nurse about the same age as himself. His mother shuffled beside him. She asked Dan who had called the ambulance, Dan paused, then said ‘A friend.’ He was going to continue the conversation, say something to dissolve even a little of the tension between them, but the words ‘Psychiatric Ward’ passing overhead silenced him.

                Dan’s brother and father hugged him goodbye. It felt awkward and strange, like using a muscle that had been stiff for a long time. They left for a hotel bed. His mother slept in the chair beside him, like she had when he was sick when he was little. Dan attempted to question the doctors, whether all these pills were absolutely necessary, telling them how it had just been a mistake. But the files pinned to the end of his bed said it all; Daniel Howell, Attempted Suicide.

                Two days later, after an appointment with a psychiatrist and a brand new little yellow bottle of pills (these were smaller, and lighter coloured) with the words ANTI-DEPRESSANT, ORAL ADMINISTRATION ONCE DAILY printed unforgivingly on the side. Dan dressed himself, shakily, in some clothes that had been brought from home. They were from another time-his pre-university years; skinny jeans that always sat just beneath the elastic of his boxers, a Smosh tshirt and a shapeless grey cardigan. He pulled the sleeves of the cardigan up over his hands.

                He walked out to the car, a little wobbly on his feet. It was sunny outside. His father and brother were waiting for them. Wordlessly, they piled into their usual seats, (Dan on the right, Adrian on the left, their father driving) and set out. There was no sound but the radio, none of the usual joshing and casual put-downs that a family car journey would usually entail.

                Just as they were leaving the sprawling city limits, an ad for funeral homes came on. Dan gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. His mother shut the radio off.

‘Hey, Dan?’

‘Yeah?’ Dan turned around to face Adrian, who was staring out the window. Adrian took a shuddery breath which sent ricochets of pain through Dan’s chest.

‘Why?’

Dan felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. His mother turned around, looking cross. ‘Leave him alone now, he’s just got out of hospital.’

‘No,’ Dan said, then coughed, clearing his throat. ‘Er-it was, it was because-‘ Dan tried to edit everything down, to summarise all the reasons into a few words. Adrian wiped his eyes with his sleeve and kept looking out the window, away from Dan.

Dan didn’t finish the sentence. He wiped his eyes and mumbled something about feeling carsick. Adrian returned to looking out of the window and Dan put his head between his knees. Even sitting up seemed difficult, like an immense physical effort.

Dan ran through all the possible ways he could still kill himself; throwing himself out of the car, finding a scissors and slicing his veins open when they got home, taking a walk and throwing himself under a train…he felt guilty about it, but the thought that he still had control over _something_ calmed him down.

                They didn’t drive home. When Dan finally found the strength to sit up straight and look out the window, he found they were driving up into what looked to be a hotel. But the too-high walls and ambulance depot marked it out as something else. The glassy plaque above the reception sealed Dan’s fate; he was now an inpatient in St. Andrew’s Psychiatric Hospital.

                Dan was tempted to kick up a fuss, tempted to scream and make a run for it. But he didn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to frighten his brother, or disappoint his parents, or make a scene in front of the nurses. He was just _tired._ He was so lethargic even getting out of the car was an immense effort that needed several seconds of mental preparation.

                Every sight, every sound walking into that place made Dan want to die. The light from the overcast sky hurt his retinas. His mother’s gentle hand on the crook of his elbow felt like a vice grip. The receptionist flashed him a wide Tippex grin, and Dan looked down and focused on the laces of his shoes. She tapped at her computer and chatted away to his parents in a jaunty tone of voice that was at odds with the whole situation.

                He was already booked in, and paid for. A squat nurse with a raggedy weave took them on a short tour of the grounds, fielding questions from Dan’s parents about visiting hours and occupational therapy and sleeping arrangements. Dan was silent throughout the whole process, keeping his gaze fixed on his shoes.

                He could only manage a mumbled goodbye to his parents. He was quiet on the way up to his new room (single bed, plain, bars on the windows). On the way, a man in a shirt with ketchup stains on the collar walked past, muttering to himself. Later, Dan sat down to a meeting with his new psychiatrist to prescribe him some medication, but he could barely manage monosyllables.

                The next day, he couldn’t get out of bed. It took him several minutes to convince himself to open his eyes. A nurse came in and called him for breakfast, then, an hour later, brought it up to him. Half an hour after that, when it lay untouched and cold on a tray on his bedside table, she arrived and force-fed him a viscous clear liquid through a baby syringe.

                He wanted to stand up, he wanted to move, look at his timetable, go through the motions of what was assigned to him that day. Dan knew that staying in bed now meant days, or weeks more of persuading the doctors that he was well enough to leave this place. But he just…couldn’t get up. Even though he had slept for more than ten hours he was still tired. His thoughts were slow and messy like treacle.

                He forced himself out of bed at dinnertime, and went into the cafeteria. A feeling of doom clung to his brain. He sat alone in the corner of the cafeteria, staring at the watery beef bourginon on his tray. He picked up the knife and ran it over his fingers. It was blunt, so blunt it could barely cut through his baked potatoes.

                Dan held his head in his hands. There was no fast way out of this place. It was completely suicide proofed. The only way out- was to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning; hospital setting, psychiatric hospital setting, suicidal thoughts, references to self-harm (cutting). Comment if you’d like me to write a synopsis.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for late update! I was having computer trouble. Again, trigger warnings are at the end.

Dan had an hour of scheduled phone time once a week. When the end of the week slouched its way around, one of the nurses called him out from his occupational therapy time. She led him up to a small room, bare except for a two chairs and a landline phone on a table. She sat down with him. He picked up the receiver. His family would be expecting a call…but they had only visited a few days before.

Dan took a deep breath. He punched in Phil’s number, half embarrassed, half relieved that he knew it off by heart. It rang, and rang. Dan was met with Phil’s answering machine. He slammed down the receiver before Phil’s jaunty phone voice asked him to leave a message. The nurse looked at him, alarmed. With shaking fingers, he dialled again, having to put the receiver down and pick it up a few times before he could tap out the digits properly.

It rang twice, and Phil picked up. **‘Hello?’** he said, a note of confusion in his voice. **‘Phil Lester here,** **who’s this?’**

Dan began to speak, but all that came out was unattractive mouth noises.

**‘Em, hello? Anyone there?’**

More hesitation. Dan took in a gasping breath.

**‘Hello? I’m going to hang up now in a second if you don’t-‘**

‘It’s-er-it’s D-an,’ he stuttered, finally.

 **‘Oh my god, Dan,’** Phil said, audibly relieved. **‘I’m so glad to hear from you, I didn’t know what happened after I left, I didn’t know anything…Are you okay? Where are you?’**

‘I’m fine…I’m in- er-I’m in hospital.’ His mouth felt like it was full of mud. Every consonant tired him out. His voice was muffled from underuse.

 **‘You’re still in the hospital?’** The sentence ended with a squeaky note of concern.

‘No, it’s…it’s a psychiatric hospital. Near where my parents live.’

 **‘Oh…’** There was a long pause then, neither knowing what to say. They were both silent for a good twenty seconds. Dan listened to the hiss at the other end of the line, comforted by the fact that, somewhere in London, Phil Lester was doing exactly the same.

 **‘I’m really really s-sorry if I ever put you under too much pressure, or contributed, or-‘** Phil began babbling.

‘Phil,’ Dan whispered.

**‘I should never have emailed Ms. Valdes…I didn’t realise she was your boss…I didn’t know who else to contact…I was really worried…I never thought- ’**

‘Phil, hey, Phil?’

 **‘Uh-huh?’** Phil’s voice was murky, close to tears.

Dan took a deep breath. He had planned this conversation in his head, thought over it a hundred times that past week. He took a breath before he spoke again, trying his best not to stumble over the words. He looked down at his hands and realised that they were shaking. ‘Nevermind all that, you didn’t do anything wrong. I want to thank you.’

**‘Thank me? What for?’**

‘You saved my life.’

**‘No, I really didn’t, it was just dumb luck-I-‘**

‘ _Phil **,**_ **’** Dan said, lowering his voice a little, ‘you saved my _life.’_

More silence. A cough, Phil clearing his throat on the other end of the line.

 **‘Dan,’** Phil’s voice was barely a whisper now. **‘C-can I visit you? Would that be okay?’**

‘Yes,’ Dan said. ‘That would be more than okay.’

***

                Phil arrived two days later. Dan didn’t attend his morning occupational therapy class (Cooking with Mindfulness) because he was just too _nervous._ He paced around his room, jittery. Doubts were whirling in his brain. Was this the wrong thing to do? Was he ready for this? He almost called for the nurse to phone Phil and tell him that he wasn’t well today. Dan just couldn’t get over the maddening feeling that he couldn’t trust himself. He expected himself to say the wrong thing immediately, make it awkward, make it all wrong.

                But when he saw Phil standing in the reception area, a bunch of yellow roses awkwardly clutched between his fingers and one of his crutches, most of the doubt in Dan’s mind was washed away. However, Phil was not his usual bubbly self. There was something fearful and withdrawn about him, he seemed shrunken into himself. Dan put that down to the setting, and felt a bitter wave of guilt.

                Their conversation was stilted and awkward at first. Phil asked how Dan was, and Dan lied. They spoke about trivial things; the weather, Phil’s job, how Dan’s family were, how Phil’s new (smaller) cast fitted. Phil seemed tense. Every sentence was considered, and he asked no questions about Dan’s immediate situation. Dan had the feeling that Phil was walking on eggshells around him.

 They took a walk around the gardens, down a path which snaked around rose bushes and a small apple orchard. But the too-high walls were always in sight, and even if Dan could have drawn up the courage to slide his arm into the crook of Phil’s, the crutches would always impede him. Dan felt wobbly and weak. The open sky was suffocating all of the conversation he tried to make. Phil seemed to sense this and lead him inside.

They sat in a corner of the lounge area, together on a sofa, their bodies angled towards one another. Dan laid his hand out on his knee, closer to Phil. He really wanted for the other man to hold his hand. He had had a small taste of that comforting warmth at the hospital and he ached for it in his soul.

But Phil didn’t bite. Instead, he frowned slightly and looked down at his fingernails. Dan noticed that they were bitten right down to raw skin.

‘I’m sorry Dan, I should be more…’ Phil trailed off.

‘Should be more what?’

‘I dunno, cheery or positive or-‘ Phil curled his fingers into fists, then unclenched them.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ Dan leaned in as close as he dared.

‘It’s just…’ Phil sighed, still looking down at his hands. ‘I’ve received a few nasty calls and voicemails and stuff.’

‘From who?’

‘I can’t be sure…whoever it is, they disguise their voice. I have a feeling it might be this Chris Kendall guy, though.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘He mentioned the trial at one point…says he’s been watching me on the news, said my cast suits me and he laughed…He hasn’t been speaking in the last few ones. He just calls me and breathes on the other end-‘

‘Jesus Christ, Phil, have you called the police about it?’

‘Yeah, they can’t do anything unless they have a name. I’m in the process of changing my number, though…’

‘When did this start?’

‘Er- the day you, um-‘

‘Oh.’ Dan paused, gritting his teeth. ‘That’s why you were in the office that day.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why did you- how did you know where I lived?’

‘You left location on one of those texts you sent me.’ Phil looked down, then up again into Dan’s eyes. Dan was stunned for a moment at how-just-beautiful he was so close up. ‘You looked so shook up that day, and I knew that you wouldn’t avoid me unless there was something really wrong.’

Dan nodded, feeling his heart swelling. Phil continued. ‘It was just a hunch, but-‘

‘I know-‘

‘I am so, so glad I-‘

A voice on the intercom announced that visiting hours were ending. Dan helped Phil into his crutches and they walked out towards reception. There they paused, unsure of how to say goodbye to each other.

‘I’ll be better by the trial.’ Dan said, a resolution in his voice that surprised even himself.

Phil looked up at him. Dan was stunned by the way his blue eyes shone in the summer light that was sluicing through the glass of the revolving door. ‘If you’re not, y’know, there’s no need to worry, PJ knows plenty of-‘

‘I’ll be better by the trial.’ Dan said again, firmly.

Phil nodded. He shifted one crutch into his other hand, hopped over to Dan and hugged him. Dan stood there with his arms at his sides for a moment, surprised. Then he drew his arms awkwardly around Phil, while Phil pressed tighter. ‘Get well soon,’ Phil said, his breath against Dan’s ear. Then he drew back, but kept one arm on Dan’s shoulder.

For a second, Dan thought Phil was going to kiss him. Phil’s eyes flickered up and down to Dan’s mouth momentarily. Their heads were just a few inches closer than would be deemed ‘friendly’. Dan had to stop himself from pitching forward on the balls of his feet, leaning down and sealing the kiss. But then Phil bit his lip and took his hand off Dan’s shoulder. The spell was broken. Before Dan knew it, he was waving goodbye as Phil walked out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning; psychiatric hospital setting, rocky road to recovery, dark thoughts


	15. Chapter 15

A week later, Dan was taken off suicide watch, and placed in an area of the hospital where he had more freedom. Two weeks after that, new prescription in hand, he was released from St. Andrew’s. His parents picked him up and drove him home to Reading. Dan didn’t really want to leave. He still felt unsteady on his feet. He still was plagued with thoughts of ending his life. In the hospital, he had a schedule and there was always a doctor at hand. Home didn’t seem like a safe haven anymore, it just seemed full of uncertainty.

It was now early July and the country was gripped in an extended heatwave. It was the hottest summer since records began. Dan stayed out of the sun, however. He didn’t want a repeat of the racial ambiguity of his early university days.

In the surrounding area, a few older people died of heat-induced heart attacks. He watched teenagers dash down the street, skateboarding in swimsuits. The neighbour’s dog perished after it was left in a car with no air conditioning. It was an apocalyptic atmosphere, a strangely suitable summer for Dan to try and change his life in.

Dan attended a psychiatrist once a week, and grudgingly joined the local support group. He got back in touch with friends that had fallen out of his life. He started going for short walks, then longer ones, then began running. Slowly, very slowly, he began to feel better.  The days when he couldn’t get himself out of bed became fewer and further between. His mother returned to work, his brother went on a holiday to Ayia Napa after his A Level exams finished.

Soon enough, Dan became restless. One day, he found himself with literally nothing to do. It was warm out, but he had already gone for a jog. All of his friends were at work or on holiday. He had cleaned the house, tried to read a book, done everything that needed doing…so he called up Cat Valdes, crossing his fingers that she hadn’t returned home to the States like she did every summer.

‘Hello, Cat?’

**‘Dan? Omigod, Dan, is that you? Are you alright?’**

‘Yes, I’m fine. Feeling much better, thank you. Now, about that case with the BBC weatherman, Phil Lester? Would you be able to check if it’s been assigned a court date yet?’

**‘Eh-yes…’** There was a smattering of keyboard clicks on the other end. **‘It’s one, two,…six weeks away. The third Wednesday in September.’**

‘Would you be able to log onto my part of the database and email me some files pertaining to that case?’

**‘Of course…but, Dan, you’re not thinking of actually coming back, are you?’**

Dan set down his teacup. ‘There’s no ifs or buts about it. Now, would it be possible for you to post me that copy of the 2014 non-pecuniary loss legislation I have sitting on my desk?’

**‘Dan.’** Cat said. **‘All your stuff has been moved.’**

‘I’m sorry?’

**‘We assumed you had quit! I’ve taken on one of your cases, Harvey took the other…We’re interviewing for your position at the moment.’**

Dan blinked. _So soon, and I’m old news._ He was part angry, part relieved. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. He was going to quit his job anyway, now the world had made that decision for him. But he still had one last case, one last promise to carry out.

**‘Are you coming back?’** Cat continued.

‘Yes, just for this one last case.’

**‘Are you sure that’s wise? I mean, I don’t know what the heck happened to you, Dan…you just dropped right off the grid one day, there were rumours you had some sort of mental breakdown.’**

‘I’m telling you, I am fine.’ Dan said. ‘Now, send me those files.’

**‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’** Cat replied. **‘I was so fucking angry when you walked out, Dan. And then you wouldn’t answer calls and when I went to your apartment someone else was living there. I googled you, I looked in the fucking obituaries…’**

‘Thank you, Cat. Thank you so much.’

Cat sighed. ‘ **Just look after yourself. You’re not an employee here anymore, but still, if you need any help…’**

Dan’s phone buzzed on the table, his email notification showing up. ‘I know who to ring.’ He said his goodbyes to Cat and ran upstairs to the family computer.

No matter what it did to him, Dan Howell was going to _win_ this case.

***

                Two weeks later, Dan moved back to London. He packed his bags and said goodbye to his parents. Soon, he was boarding the train to King’s Cross station, something he would have thought impossible a month ago. Dan couldn’t even concentrate on the things he should be worried about- losing his train ticket, losing the case, losing his mind- he was just excited.

                Because, for the next few days at the very least, Dan was going to be living in Phil’s apartment.

                It had been Phil who had offered it. He had drawn it out from Dan that he no longer had a place to stay in London (the lease on his old apartment was most definitely void and his parents had moved out all his stuff) and Phil refused to let Dan stay in a hotel. His parents were sceptical about the idea at first. But they called Phil (and spoke to him in another room, away from Dan) and now were much happier about him leaving.

                Dan knew that this stay in Phil’s was more so that someone could keep an eye on him, rather than any romantic gesture, but he didn’t care. He was going to hear Phil’s sleepy voice across the breakfast table in the morning. He was going to play videogames with him again. Dan knew that he had already fallen dangerously in love with this man, and there was nothing stopping him falling even harder.

When Phil was at work, he would be able to scour the house for some sign that he liked boys; obvious signs, like pictures with old boyfriends, GHQ magazine or a butt plug buried in his chest of drawers. Even more subtle, stereotypical things like the works of Oscar Wilde or DH Lawrence, or Frank Ocean CDs would do.  If he struck gold, he might even find a recent journal.              

He had left his own dream journal at home. Though during the time of his suicide attempt and most of his recovery, he had not dreamt at all, recently his dreams were all Phil, Phil, Phil. If Phil wasn’t gay, he would certainly be freaked out if he found that lying around the place.

He got off at King’s Cross Station, and Phil was there waiting for him. Phil had only one crutch now, and his cast was off. He had a shorter haircut and was wearing a cat-patterned t-shirt and skinny jeans. He looked adorable. As always, Dan’s heart did funny things when he saw him. They greeted each other with a short hug and headed out of the station.

 Dan was dizzy with happiness, a smile plastered across his face that he couldn’t shrink. He thought about all the days that stretched ahead of him. Even the case didn’t seem so bad…seeing as he was a solicitor, PJ, the barrister would be doing all the speaking. All Dan had to do was sit down with Phil in the bench and hand pieces of paper over to PJ. Dan looked down at Phil and caught his eye. Phil was smiling too.


	16. Chapter 16

That night, the two of them sat down on the sofa together. Dan had the case files spread out across his legs, explaining the last few legal details he could before the trial. It was the same Phil looking back at him, blue eyes sparkling, but something had changed. Something was missing from Dan. He was so close to Phil he could nearly reach out and touch him, but he didn’t feel the same anxiety about it these days.

The next morning, they both suited up and took a taxi to the courtroom together. The nerves had returned to Dan, breaking through the monotone fug of his mood. Now, as he walked towards the courthouse, his knees felt shaky. PJ was waiting outside, lanky in a grey pinstripe suit and a red tie. He had his black robes in a bundle over his arm. PJ smiled widely when he saw them and Dan felt like he was going to vomit. 

They filed into the courtroom. They were all seated at the front on the right hand side, three at a small desk in front of the judge’s cabinet. Dan laid the files out on the table. PJ shuffled the printed pages of his opening speech over and over. Perhaps Dan wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

Several minutes later, the judge walked in, his clerk scuttling ahead of him in a pair of noisy high heels. Dan and PJ stood up and Phil followed suit. The judge was a small, heavy-set man. Dan was unused to these courts, and so had never seen a trial of his before. The jury walked in, in single file a few moments later. 

He leaned in to Phil and whispered in his ear as they took their seats again. ‘The judges who wear wigs are usually more conservative.’

‘What does that mean for me?’ Phil said, looking back at Dan with worry in his eyes.

Dan paused for a second, thinking. ‘I think it’s a good thing, honestly. He’ll probably be more sympathetic to…’ He trailed off as he realised the judge was staring at him over his glasses. He coughed. Dan sat up straighter and felt his face going red. The judge turned away from him and looked over to the other desk.

‘Ms. MacLeod, where is your defendant?’

The opposing barrister stood up to answer the question. She was a small, kind-looking woman with red hair. When she spoke she had a trace of an old speech impediment. ‘He will be here in a few moments, I’m sure, Judge.’

‘Is this not the defendant who was deemed…’ he licked his thumb and leafed through a few pages in front of him. ‘High risk of flight by the police?’

‘Yes, I-um-‘

PJ’s voice was sudden and warm beside Dan’s ear. ‘Were you aware of this?’ Dan shook his head. 

The judge lifted up his arm, pulled back the sleeve of his long black robes slightly, and looked at his watch. ‘Well if he isn’t here within the next twenty minutes-‘

The doors burst open at the end of the room and everyone turned around to look. A small, skinny man with bad posture and a greasy-looking fringe loped his way up the central aisle. He paused at the top, looking confused for a moment before taking his seat. 

Phil reached out his hand to the wooden bench in front of them and grabbed onto it. His knuckles went white. Beside Dan, PJ took in a sharp breath. Dan turned his head to PJ, who looked past him, at Phil.

'Phil, that's-’

'I know,’ he said, gravely.

'Why didn't you  _ tell _ me?’ 

‘I only caught a glance of him- I was a bit busy getting run over, y’know?’

'Wait, wait,’ Dan said, , 'PJ, you  _ know  _ this guy?’

PJ was silent for a few moments. 'Bollocks!’ he hissed, barely a whisper, then put his head in his hands. 'Oh, no, bollocks, shit, crap, Dan!’

'What’s the problem?’ Phil asked, confused.

'Prosecution, are you quite finished?’ The judge's frown had deepened.

'Actually, Judge,’ PJ stood up.  'There's been a problem. Would you be able to call the jury  _ in camera _ ?’

When the jury had filed out, the judge sighed and demanded an explanation. 

'I know this man,’ PJ said, gesturing to Chris Kendall. 

‘Are you  _ serious,  _ Mr Liguori?’ said the judge. taking off his glasses. ‘Did you not attend the pretrial hearing?’

‘Yes, I did, but Mr. Kendall himself was not present, judge.’

‘Well then did you not do any research into who you were prosecuting? Or did you let your solicitor do all the work for you?’

‘I-er-’ PJ hesitated. He proceeded to try and defend himself, with grand words and gestures. But there was a redness spreading up his neck. He had been publicly embarrassed. Dan felt a thrill of vindictive glee. PJ could have, in fact, done a great deal more work on the case than he had done. Especially since he had known that Dan was in hospital. It was kind of like the feeling when you have your homework done well, while others haven’t put in so much effort. 

‘This,’ said the Judge, tossing the sheaf of paper in front of him aside 'Is a complete and utter shambles.’ He stood up 'Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen of the jury, but I am afraid this court must be adjourned until further notice from the prosecution.’ 

Dan stood up, tugging Phil to his feet as the judge left the room- followed by his clerk who was struggling under an armful of files. Chris Kendall turned and sprinted full-tilt out of the building, his Converse squeaking on the floor.

PJ sat down and placed his head in his hands. Dan slumped beside him, anxiety building like nausea in the pit of his stomach.

'Okay, what the fuck is going on?’ Phil said, a tinge of forceful anger to his voice.

'In law, a barrister shouldn't know personally the person they are prosecuting. If this had come to light later on in the case, it could make it be completely thrown out-’ Dan replied.

'So...what now, then? I find a new barrister? That's okay, then, right?’

'I don't know who I'm going to get at such short notice,’ PJ said, sitting up. 'Plus bringing them up to date and all…and after the divorce and all, Phil... you know-’

Phil bit his lip, then sat down and put his head in his hands too. ‘Ffffuck-’ he whispered. 

‘Sorry?’ Dan was confused. ‘What does your  divorce have to do with it?’

They both ignored him. Dan felt useless and invisible, like they both thought he was stupid. But his pulled up courage from somewhere. ‘PJ, what does your divorce have to do with it?’

‘I’m not the one who got divorced.’

‘Oh…..’ Inside, Dan’s brain could not compute anything more than  W H A T  for a few seconds. 

‘Anyway, I’m really sorry, Phil,’ PJ said. ‘I never-’

Dan had opened his mouth and taken a breath to say sorry as well, when Phil cut across his. 

‘Just shut up,’ he replied tersely, the edges of his voice sharp and jagged. ‘Shut up, both of you.’ Both Dan and PJ were taken aback. Dan had never heard Phil speak like that before. Judging by the way PJ was looking at Phil right now, he hadn’t either. Phil stayed with his head in his hands a long time, the other two men looking at him worriedly.

Dan stretched out  a hand, and gingerly placed it on Phil’s back. He half-expected Phil to shrug it away. Then, in an equally shaky voice, he said. ‘I’ll do it.’ The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to properly think about them. 

‘Do what?’ came Phil’s muffled voice, just on the edge of tears.

‘I did a year of training for the Bar, before I decided to switch and become a solicitor. I’m a little rusty, but I know this case inside out.’

Phil sat up straight like a bolt, and dried his eyes surreptitiously with his shirt sleeve. ‘You’re joking, right?

‘Why would he be joking?’ said PJ, smiling. ‘This is great news! Problem solved, eh? As long as  _ you _ aren’t a friend of the culprits as well, Danny boy.’

‘I’m not joking. But what’s this about a divorce? How does that stop you getting another barrister?’

Phil made a little choking sound in the back of his throat, and his eyes filled with tears. He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. PJ shook his head at Dan, silent, his eyes wide, warning him that this was not a subject to be delved any deeper into.

‘Oh- Phil, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-’

‘It’s okay,’ he sniffled. ‘You tell him, PJ.’

PJ sighed. ‘Phil’s divorce settlement didn’t really go in his favour...he doesn’t have a whole lot of cash lying around. I’m doing this case on charity.’ He stood up, abruptly. ‘Anyway, Philip, I think it’s time to go. The typist is giving us the evils.’ 

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Phil said. ‘I need to head home and give everything a good think. Come on, Dan, lets get a taxi.’

Dan stood aside as Phil hailed a taxi in the street. He waved goodbye to PJ. As he got into the car, the was one thought which rose above all the rest. It wasn’t about Phil’s divorce, it wasn’t about the case, it wasn’t about Dan’s own future, which still seemed so uncertain. 

It was this:  _ He didn’t choose me as his solicitor because he liked me, or he thought I was good. He chose me because I was the cheapest- _

And with that thought, a certain kind of cloud settled over his mind. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my beta Annabel for helping me out. :)

There was absolutely no chance that Dan was going to be able to sleep that night. Number one: his bedhead was propped right against the wall that separated their two rooms. Number two: the entire rest of his fucked-up life.

He tried to amuse himself by flipping through his phone, but there was nothing he wanted to do. The only person he wanted to Whatsapp right now was asleep in the next room. And he didn’t even know how he felt about Phil anymore. There was a lot more to him than he had originally thought. A lot of complicated things had happened to him. He wasn’t just the simple happy-go-lucky weatherman of Dan’s imagination- he had been divorced, had money problems, and goodness knows what his relationship was with Chris Kendall.

The fact that the case was going to become a lot more complicated now that the perpetrator and victim knew each other _a priori_ popped into Dan’s mind. He groaned and rolled over until the covers surrounded him like a burrito. He picked up his phone from where it was on the bare bedside cupboard beside him. It was 3.30 in the morning. He let out a deep sigh. He wasn’t going to get to sleep any time soon. Dan considered going out to the kitchen and finding some food. He wasn’t hungry, but ice cream usually made him feel better when he was feeling like this- at least for a little while.

Then he remembered that Phil was lactose intolerant- and a fucking tv personality. It wasn’t likely that he had chocolate or cakes lying around the place either. He looked even thinner in real life than he did on TV, not a single gram of excess fat. His kitchen cupboards were probably just full of quinoa and tofu and other rabbit food.

But Dan couldn’t just lie in bed anymore. He had to _do_ something. He stood up and turned on the light. The sudden brightness hurt his eyes a little. In the corner of the room was an old piano. Phil had pointed it out to him when he had shown Dan into his room. Dan had neglected to mention that he could play the piano during the house tour. He had been too overwhelmed, really. Dan pulled on a t-shirt and stepped over to the instrument. It was made of dark wood, the polish mostly worn to matte over the decades. He leaned down and pressed middle C, then cringed as the sound reverberated loudly in the silence.

Dam sat down at the little chair in front of it and pressed his foot down on the dampener. He played a major scale. That was much better. It was so quiet it was unlikely to wake Phil up. He played the same scale in a minor key. The piano was slightly out of tune. Not enough that it would annoy him or make anything he played sound massively wrong- but it was just slightly out. Dan began to play another scale, then stopped at the top of it, his hand paused, ring finger just pressing against a high C sharp. He paused, sighed, and began to awkwardly fumble his way through Für Elise.

                It took a few goes to get the first few bars right, but after that he was flying. Dan shook his head as he mentally flipped over onto the second page of the music he used to know so well. There was something in muscle memory after all. He hadn’t played in so long.

He had just pressed down forcefully on the final long note when a knock came at the door.

‘Dan?’

It was Phil’s voice. Dan realised with panic that he had taken his foot off the muffler. Lost in a reverie, he hadn’t realised how loud the music was.

‘Can I come in in?’

‘Yeah- uh-’ Dan cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, come on in, Phil!’

Phil opened the door. He was in his pyjamas (tartan bottoms, Adventure Time shirt) and was wearing glasses with black plastic frames. He looked tired.

‘It’s beautiful, but, do you mind keeping it down a little? I’m trying to sleep… ‘

Dan stood up, nearly falling over the stool. ‘Yes, of course, I’m really sorry-’

Then, at that moment, they both looked down and realised that all Dan was wearing were boxers and a t-shirt. Dan looked back up and saw Phil just staring at him, face a little red, his mouth wide open. Then, in one movement, Dan leapt across the room and hid his lower half behind the bed. He had never moved so far in one movement before, even in school with his hated PE teacher breathing down his neck as he attempted the long jump.

‘PhilI’msorrygobacktobedI’llstopplayingthepianodontworryaboutit------’

Phil just sighed and sat down on the other side of the bed, facing away from Dan, then put his head in his hands. He laughed softly.

‘I can’t sleep, either.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Dan said, as he was lying on the floor struggling into the pair of skinny jeans he had worn the other day. ‘Why not?’

‘Everything, Dan…just everything.’ There was a broken, defeated undertone to Phil’s voice that made Dan’s heart hurt a little.

Dan stood up and went to Phil, putting a hand on his shoulder. He then sat down on the bed beside him, wincing as it creaked under his weight. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he said.

Phil let out a sigh. ‘I’d talk about it, but I don’t really know where to start.’

‘That’s okay. Start in the middle, or the end, or the beginning. Wherever you want. I’ll catch on.’ Dan said. In the few seconds of silence that followed, he nearly turned away from Phil and punched himself in the face. Why was he so bloody _cheesy_?

‘Uh- alright then…’ Phil said, moving on quickly from Dan’s last statement. Phil was silent for a few moments, looking away from him and thinking. Dan felt a strange kind of excitement – was Phil about to open up to him? About a certain divorce, perhaps?

‘Mmm..’ Phil said. ‘I guess...I think I remember Chris Kendall. The more I go over it in my brain, the more I remember, and the more I kick myself for not remembering.’

‘Yeah?’ Dan caught himself, the disappointment in his voice more than evident. He coughed. ‘Uh-huh? Where do you remember him from?’ It looked like Dan was not going to get any dishing on the divorce story tonight.

‘Do you know what YouTube is?’

‘Umm...yeah,’ Dan replied. ‘I-er I think I might’ve heard of it. It’s a place for-eh internet videos, right?’

‘Right. Before I started working for- uh, I mean, during my uni days- I had a Youtube channel, where I would talk to the camera about my life and stuff. Like, just stupid things. But I had a good few fans. I was even thinking of doing a video production masters instead of a one in meteorology.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yeah. And this one guy, Chris, was a really big fan of mine. He had a channel as well, a smaller one. He tweeted at me once to thank me for what I was doing, telling me I had inspired him to set up his own channel. And I retweeted it, and thanked him for saying that, and checked out his channel, and followed him back.’

Phil was staring out away from Dan at the opposite wall. Dan looked down at the way Phil was clutching the sides of the bed, all the tension he seemed to be holding in himself. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch him. But if he did, he might disturb him, break the moment, weird him out, and he would stop talking. Dan threaded his own fingers together in his lap and moved over in his seat a bit, away from Phil.

‘We started chatting, I think we skyped a few times? I seem to remember that he was planning to come on a trip to Lancashire when I was home for the summer so we could do a collab? But I don’t know, the more I talked to him he just seemed a bit, well, odd? A little obsessive maybe? I was always kind of worried when I was talking to him, like watching the way I was speaking, careful that I wasn’t going to set him off. He liked to rant, go off on these really long angry tangents about things where I would have to sit and listen. So, after a few weeks I sent him an email telling him that I didn’t think that it was going to work. And he got _really_ angry.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Like, _really_ angry. He replied to me with this really mean email, some of it was quite personal and hurtful, I was a bit upset about it for a while...and then afterwards there were some nasty @ messages on twitter...In the end I blocked and reported him. I think he might have made some sort of video response to me, like, slagging me? But I had blocked him, and I didn’t want to have anything else to do with him, so, I just rubbed him out of my life, tried to forget about him.’

‘But he didn’t forget about you.’

‘You can say that again.’

Another long silence. Dan waited for Phil to pick up the thread of the conversation from where he had left it hanging. He was bursting with questions that he was too scared to voice.

‘And after that, I-‘ then Phil stopped himself. ‘Well, you don’t want to hear my life story,’ he laughed.

‘No, I’d love to, I mean, we have loads of time- talk about whatever you want.’

‘Thanks, Dan.’ Phil said, turning to him, his eyes shining a little. ‘That means a lot, but I think that’ll do for tonight. Thanks for listening to though.’

‘Any time.’ Dan said, smiling weakly. ‘That’s what-er friends are for, right?’

Phil smiled weakly. ‘Right.’ He turned away and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. He sighed deeply. ‘Y’know, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.’

‘Yeah, me neither.’

‘Do you want to go into the lounge and watch something? Or play X-Box or something like that?’

‘That sounds great, Phil.’

Phil stood up and walked out ahead of him into the lounge. ‘I also have Netflix if you’re interested. And loads of box sets. Do you know any Japanese cartoons? I know it’s a bit weird, but I’m really into them.’

‘Animé? I loove animé!’

Phil looked at him as he was opening the door to the lounge. ‘Really? Ahh this is great! I never have anyone to talk about animé with! What ones have you seen?’

Dan laughed. ‘I think it would be better to start with what ones I _haven’t_ seen.’

Phil smiled at Dan, looking as happy as he had ever seen him, a complete contrast to what he was like a few moments earlier. He ran over to the shelf where he had all his DVDs. ‘Here, come have a look. Do you like sports animé? I’m really into this one at the moment, it’s called Yuri-’

‘-On Ice? I love that one!’

Phil chuckled. ‘I guess we’ve decided what we’re watching then.’

                They watched animé until the early morning, when the sun cracking through the gap in the curtains disturbed them and reminded them of the word outside. But for a few hours, nestled on the sofa with blankets over their legs more for comfort and warmth, eating Doritos, they were able to forget. For a few hours, they weren’t a lawyer and a client who had big problems on their hands, rather just two boys at the beginning of a friendship.


	18. Interlude; Spring Day

A FEW MONTHS LATER

  


    Dan was staring at his shoes, fixated on the way that he could snap the blades of the frozen grass by just nudging them with his sole.  He wasn’t wearing a proper coat, and the grey stone bench was soaking coldness into his bones. He could barely feel it anymore. He was numb.

  


Phil’s voice came from beside him. ‘They can’t let you go home, Dan. You’re not well. ‘

  


‘And you’re the picture of health, yeah?’

  


Silence. Dan let out a breath. He lifted his head and watched the white steam spiral out into nothing. The grounds spread out in front of him, hundreds of feet of frosty grass, interrupted by a grey Victorian building. 

  


‘I’m going inside. I’m frozen.’

  


‘I wonder why,’ Dan said, his voice dry and cruel.

  


‘You know, you're not being very nice about this whole thing. Friends should-.' 

  


‘We’re not friends.’ Dan said, softly, almost under his breath.

  


‘Excuse me?’

  


‘Friends don’t do - they don’t do stuff like that to each other.’ A pause. Another breath, a cloud that drifts away.  ‘We’re bad for each other, Phil.’

  


‘I’m going inside.’ Phil said, firmly. 

  


There was a swip noise as the material of Phil’s puffer coat moved against itself. Dan looked down at his shoes, listening to the crunching sounds Phil’s steps made on the grass as he walked away.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to my beta Annabel for helping me :)

  Dan woke up with a start, disturbed for a moment because he couldn’t remember where he was. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He was lying belly down on Phil’s couch, his head against a beige, suede pillow. He was alone. The room was dark, but judging by the sunlight making its way in through the chinks in the curtains, it was daytime.  A blanket had been placed over him. He didn’t remember setting that over himself. Phil must have done it.

 

Dan smiled for a moment as he imagined it - him falling asleep slowly beside Phil as they made their way through the first season of Yuri On Ice, Phil looking over and smiling, thinking Dan was cute when he was asleep, then getting up and placing a blanket lovingly over his shoulders, kissing him on the head and brushing back his (now seriously hobbity) fringe, then leaving the room quietly. Okay, maybe that wasn’t all entirely likely. But Dan could dream.

 

Dan pulled the cover off himself. He felt seriously sweaty. His skinny jeans were sticking to him in unmentionable places. He fanned his face with one hand and padded out to the kitchen.

 

There he found Phil, leaning against the kitchen counter, elbow-deep in a box of Kellog’s Crunchy Nut. Phil paused as he met eyes with Dan across the kitchen. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights, except a decidedly guilty-looking one.

 

‘Eh, morning,’ Dan said.

 

‘Afternoon, actually,’ Phil said. He withdrew his arm from the cereal box and attempted to lay it nonchalantly on the kitchen counter. It fell over, spilling sugary corn flakes onto the floor. He squeaked, looked even guiltier. 

 

‘Here, let me help,’ Dan said, bending down to the floor, the seams around the knees of his skinny jeans straining a little. 

 

‘No, no, it’s okay,’ Phil pattered over to one of the cupboards and pulled out a ratty-looking dustpan that was at odds with the rest of the white, almost pristine kitchen. He bent down from his wait and cleaned up all the flakes. Dan did not take advantage of the moment to ogle Phil’s arse. 

 

    When he had finished cleaning, Phil stood up and smiled at Dan, before tipping the cereal into the rubbish bin. 

 

‘What would you like for breakfast?’ Phil asked, opening the cupboards, showing an array of brightly coloured cereal boxes. Many of them looked suspiciously healthy; Special K, Muesli, Shredded Wheat. There was a box of Rice Krispies shoved in at one end, but its blue packaging seemed to have faded, it looked squashed, and the cardboard edges had worn away slightly.

 

‘Um, is there any Crunchy Nut left?’

 

‘Yeah, I think that there might be…’ Phil picked up the box, looking even more guilty. Sure enough, there was some left. Dan poured himself a bowl, along with some lactose-free milk from Phil’s fridge. The milk was strangely sweet. The combination with the sugary cereal made Dan’s teeth hurt. Phil made cups of tea for them both, holding his with his fingers drawn into his jumper so as not to burn his hands. He looked adorable. Dan kept his eyes fixed on his bowl.

 

***

 

    Dan spent the next several days at that very table in Phil’s kitchen, a stack of legal textbooks slowly accumulating beside him. They had been given a new court date- the next Monday. Dan had never worked so hard, not since his final exams in college where he had to make up for a weak dissertation with sleepless nights, energy drinks and pure, unadulterated cramming.

 

But Phil never let him mistreat himself. He was around every few hours with snacks, water, encouragement. He refused to let Dan work past 10 pm, ever. When he saw that Dan seemed down, he would pull him by the wrists and (sometimes literally) force him to relax. Among it all, they managed to finish Yuri on Ice and move onto a new anime- Sword Art Online. But in spite of this, Dan couldn’t shake off the dread. Panic had fastened itself around his ribcage, like a belt that was growing tighter every day.

 

Dan had most drawn everything together by lunchtime the day before. As the afternoon drew into evening, he paced around the kitchen, practising speeches and muttering to himself. Phil sat in with him, saying nothing, making cup after cup of tea. It seemed like he didn’t want to leave Dan by himself. At first, Dan felt a little insulted, later comforted. Soon enough, he forgot that Phil was in the room entirely.

 

It was only when Dan ended up on the floor beside the oven, hands around his knees when Phil broke the silence that had elbowed its way in between them. He got off his chair, cleared a space for himself close to Dan and sat down beside him on the cold tiled floor.

 

‘How’s about I get you some chocolate?’

 

Dan tried to reply but started as words came out as a sob. 

 

‘Hey, hey-’ Phil placed a hand on Dan’s knee and patted it. ‘What’s wrong, Dan?’

 

‘I-I’m going to fuck it up- I can’t do this. I-I-I-’ but then Dan’s erratic breathing cut him off.

 

‘Shush, shush, it’s okay, don’t talk for a minute, just calm down.’ He kept stroking Dan’s leg. An intense, desperate yearning added itself in on top of all the feelings that Dan was experiencing right then; panic, despair, exhaustion, self-hatred to name a few.

 

Dan let out a little whining noise and slumped over until his head was lying in Phil’s lap. It was surprisingly bony, not as comfortable as Dan had imagined. He felt Phil tense up for a few seconds, then relax, tentatively stroking his hair.

 

‘Shush,’ said Phil. He adjusted the way he was sitting, so Dan was further away from his crotch. ‘It’s going to be okay. You’ll do amazingly. I know you will.’ 

 

    Dan knew he was sobbing. He could feel the tears running down his face and the racking breaths- but it was as if there were coming from far away. He was separate from that part of himself. The most important things right then were the heat coming from Phil’s legs, the touch of his hands on Dan’s head. Dan knew that he had stepped over this barrier far, far too soon, but he felt detached from that part of himself. What he wanted, what he needed, was to be held for a little while.  

 

    Neither of them moved until Dan had cried himself dry and gotten his breath back. Afterwards, they both stood up, and Dan went to the sink to splash water on his puffy face. When he turned back to Phil, he was met with a hug. It caught Dan off-guard, knocked the wind out of him. 

 

‘You’ll be okay, I promise,’ Phil whispered. Dan could feel Phil’s breath against his neck he was so close.

 

Dan could only nod, more tears pricking his eyes. 

 

‘Now, about that chocolate…’ Phil broke off the hug and moved away. Dan folded his arms around himself, to continue the warmth, hold a little of it to himself before it dissipated.


	20. Chapter 20

Crutches, Dan?’ Phil asked, as he adjusted his tie in the hall mirror, a few minutes before their taxi was due to arrive.

Dan paused, thought for a moment, then finally said ‘Yes.’

Phil no longer really  _needed_ the crutches. His cast was off, he could walk pretty much completely normally on his own now. The fact that Phil had also decided to wear only one shoe, with a slipper sock and a bandage covering the other one was perhaps pushing it a little, but, as Dan guessed, all’s fair in love and law.

The taxi beeped outside, and the both of them made their way down the grey steps towards the door. Dan no longer felt panicky or despairing. He felt like he usually did on the day of big daunting events: his A-Levels, his uni retakes, his first  _pro bono_  case. He felt like he was tied to the tracks and the train was coming down at him. There was nothing he could do about it anymore. What was going to happen was going to happen. He no longer had any control. The fear had left him, all he felt now was cold, empty resignation.

                Phil seemed to sense this. He didn’t say anything in the taxi. But he did place a comforting hand on Dan’s arm, just above the wrist. The coldness that Dan had drawn around himself melted away a little. He turned to Phil and smiled weakly. Phil smiled back. There was nothing they needed to say to each other. No words were needed. They both just understood.

                When they got out of the taxi, Dan spotted a familiar figure milling around on the upper steps of the entrance to the court house.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Dan said as he walked over to where Cat Valdes was standing. She grinned at him, showing off her unhealthily white American-style teeth.

‘Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Dan Howell, in the flesh!’

‘Cat, it’s not that I’m not glad to see you, but  _what the fuck_  are you doing here?’

Cat looked at Phil and then back at Dan.

‘Phil, for  _fucks sake_ -’

‘Hey, don’t be mean,’ Cat said. ‘I’m just here for back up alright? She yanked sheaves of paper out of her large leather shoulder bag.

‘Are those- the case files? How did you-?’

‘You fell asleep in front of the computer a few days ago, so I logged on and emailed them to her.’

Dan didn’t say anything, just brought a hand up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed.

‘Your opening speech is fire by the way. I’m really excited.’ Cat said. ‘Now, let’s go.’ She stuck out a fist into the space between the three of them ‘One, two, three, GO-’

‘GO fuck off.’ Dan walked away, pushing open the doors of the courtroom. Cat chuckled and followed him. ‘Fire…’ Dan grumbled to himself. ‘Of all the bloody words…’

The large, echoey hall was empty save for three figures tucked away in the benches on the left hand side. One of them turned around and looked towards Dan as he strode down the aisle. It was PJ. He squinted at Dan, then wolf whistled. ‘Is that Daniel Howell, LL.B?’

Dan had thought that it would just be him, alone in front of the judge, shaking as he himself came under fire with questions. That was the image that had haunted his nightmares for the past week. But now, it seemed like he wasn’t going to be quite as alone as he had thought.

***

Chris Kendall arrived late, again. The judge was visibly annoyed. Phil couldn’t even look at the man, when Kendall’s footsteps were heard coming down the aisle he ducked his head down, staring at his own clasped hands. This time it was Dan’s turn to offer comfort. He placed a hand on Phil’s arm, the same way Phil had done only twenty minutes earlier. He squeezed gently, then let go.

Somehow that action felt risky to him, daring, even. He was pushing the boundaries, and he didn’t know where anything would lead. His heart began to beat faster as the judge read out the preliminary details of the case, confirming things with both him and the defending barrister. And then it was his turn to speak. He gathered his things together, and stood up. There was so much adrenaline coursing through his veins that he felt dizzy and focused at the same time.

               ‘Good morning, Judge, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my esteemed friend the defence counsel, defendant... My name is Daniel Howell, I am the senior counsel representing my client Phil Lester.’ Dan looked over to the jury, attempting to meet the gaze of a few of them. They seemed to be already bored. ‘On Saturday the twelfth of September last, Chris Kendall hit my client while driving several miles over the speed limit on Selsworth Street in South London. He was with two of his friends at the time: Hazel Hayes and Thomas Ridgewell. We also have, as the court already is aware, video footage of the attack from numerous cameras. My client was seriously injured, his femur snapped clean through. He has had to undergo surgery to place pins in his bones. He has had to undergo months of painful physical therapy. In essence, my client has gone through hell.’ He paused for a moment to let his words sink in.

 ‘As has been made known several days ago to the defence, this is no blind hit-and-run incident. Chris Kendall and Phil Lester were acquainted briefly in the past, during a time in which my client had amassed a considerable amount of popularity on the video sharing platform YouTube. Kendall was a fan initially, sending kind emails asking for collaboration that soon turned to vicious personal attacks when my client did not act in the way that Kendall wished. My client severed contact, and until last September, thought that he had cut all trace of Kendall from his life.’ Another pause. Dan took several seconds to shuffle his pages around, then took a deep breath. He needed this next part to sound authoritative, dignified, powerful l- he needed to sound like everything he didn’t feel.

 

‘It was no coincidence that it was Chris Kendall behind the wheel that day. It is no simple whim that he attempted to flee the scene. This is a very dangerous, vindictive man, capable of harbouring grudges that last many years. This was a calculated and pre-planned act of brutality. The prosecution asserts that Kendall had been planning this act. The suspicious proximity to my client’s own home, the pre-planning that is involved in stealing a car and driving across London, waiting for his chance…Kendall researched into and planned this act. And when he had finished, he left Lester on the roadside, for dead _,_ ’

 Dan turned to the other side of the room, to address his next words to Chris Kendall himself. The man was not looking back at him, rather staring straight ahead. His head was tilted back a little, and he was smirking slightly,

 ‘We charge Chris Kendall with one count of attempted murder.’ The smirk disappeared. His barrister, who was gazing right back at Dan, looked a little shocked.

 Dan looked back over to the jury, who seemed to have woken up a little. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, three proven conditions are necessary to carry a charge of murder; premeditation, deliberation and a specific intention to kill. It is obvious Kendall had been planning to kill my client for a long time, he had a longstanding grudge. How else would he know where my client lived, had he not been following him, keeping tabs on him? According to calculations from the camera footage, this man was driving at 30 miles an hour in a 15 mile zone. He left my client on the roadside, earnestly believing that he had killed him. The three conditions are all present,’ Dan took a breath. The jury were sitting up straight in their seats, some looking eager, others a little scared.

‘Thank you, Judge.’ Dan sat back down on the bench.

 ‘You did great, Dan,’ Phil whispered. His tone was as light and encouraging as if Dan had just given a university presentation, rather than an opening argument in a civil law case.

Dan smiled weakly back at him.

                 Next up was the barrister representing the director of public prosecution. She was young woman, with a high braided bun and a Scottish accent. She delivered a short and concise speech; containing everything Dan already knew from the police report; the fact that Kendall broke into a family car parked outside an Asda, hotwired it and managed 3 miles through the streets of London before he was stopped by the police and held overnight for questioning. She also mentioned the fact that the police had traced small amounts of cocaine in his bloodstream when he was drug-tested several hours after the incident.

‘Well, these are certainly serious charges,’ the judge said, gravely. ‘Vehicle theft, reckless driving, driving under the influence of illegal substances, and attempted murder…’ He paused a moment, looking pensive. Then he turned to the other side for the room and spoke in an emotionless voice. ‘Counsel for the defence, how do you plead?’

The opposing counsel stood up and spoke in a slightly shaky voice; ‘Judge, my client pleads not guilty on all counts on the grounds of diminished responsibility.’


End file.
